hawks – Rivers Renewed

Writing of the Wind

Writing of rivers he knew so well, yet writing of the wind, who can say? Who can describe the clouds

above our ruins? His hawk knew the way, speaking of peace carried on wingtips

yet a stronger wing does not always lift the wordflow….

he simply prayed, and his pen

wrote the fire.

As I write this, light dances through the window over my shoulder with shadows from the shades and pine trees moving across the wall. I realize I write a lot about these pine trees, and the red maples, oaks and poplar trees, as if there is a strength hidden.

I hold the hawks close to my heart, or it could be, just that one that likes to fly close to me, at eye level. It can see it now in a larger sense that courage takes wing and sometimes leaves a feather as a souvenir of victory. Sharing more than light, and clearly defining my true self.

The sun is now moving a little closer to the horizon, as I squint…..closing the shade.

The Interpretation

I was on a long walk, on the right trail, at least I could hear the hawk wings flying low, coming from left to right until she landed nearby.

And I heard the interpretation of her language, sharing a message from Our Creator….”it’s true”, she assured me again. “Everything, will be alright….”

His Hawk Heard the Prayer

From a distance his hawk heard the prayer, strong wings just in time lifting,

carrying his heartsong

into the heavens.

As Wind Song Moves Through the Pine Trees

As wind song moves through the pine trees, I can hear hawk wings descending

out of the clouds, and I finally let go of those phrases

I carried as a prayer, shifting and shaping them,

will it be a poem?

as another feather drifts,

to the Earth

from the blue sky.

As the Wind Moves Over the Hawk’s Shoulder

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A solitary feather is lifted as the wind moves over the hawk’s shoulder.

Chipmunks are breathless as the mountains bask in the sunlight.

Yet the hawk turns his head, to listen to a murmuring sound close by.

A lone figure praying in the shadows, near the top of the mountain.

Peace is seldom easy, so the hawk kept silent, honoring his descendants, he turned away.

Weren’t humans descended from birds of prey?

Influenced by Native American stories of creation.

The Christmas Hawk

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She loved the way the cold air filled her feathers on Christmas Day. First through the blue skies,

and then as she turned, and banked and even spun around twirling straight into a snow squall,

high up on the ridge. There was so much joy this day! A new day filled with hope, and life never ending, declared……openly.

it was all about the Anointed One, the star lighting the hearts of humans. She continued to twirl, banking and turning,

praising God with her wings as the snow came down heavily with the wind that never ends……

and somewhere in that wind beyond the tallest oak trees……she heard a choir singing…….

Merry Christmas everyone!

If you have a different faith I’m so glad you’re here. Peace and wonderful blessings to you as well!

In Winter Hawks Fly Low

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In winter, hawks fly low bending, turning the air

brushing their wings with pine trees

so they can smell like…

Christmas.

The Sunset of December

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I was up high in the sunset of December

with shadows of tree limbs covering

and hawk wings flying over,

giving me a wild feeling untamed

yet I turned back to the valley

having surrendered, with dreams

of a hot cup of tea,

and My Love cooking

some spicy noodles.

Note: Sometimes small things are more beautiful.

Into the Cold Light

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When leaves whither,

and the brilliance of autumn fades

hawks fly

into the cold light

of the winter sun.

Category: hawks