Monday, June 1, 2015

Harris hawk and the intruder

Harris Hawk drawing in progress by Beth Surdut

Stuart Udall wrote, “Get to know the land and the messages it whispers to those willing to listen.”
No whispers here, the songbirds and doves silent.
Fierce, the Harris hawk glared at me with cantaloupe colored eyes.
Big. Intent. Used to winning, I could tell. Unsettling.
Hissed at me as it flew from my patio to a high branch of an acacia tree to scold me for all the neighboring animals to hear.
Lush russet legs, substantial talons and a beak that could have snatched the cat away.
The hawk returned the next afternoon, “anh, anh, anh” as it flew overhead.
The cat, no fool, crouched by the kitchen door, blue eyes watching through the screen.
A baby Anna’s hummingbird, old enough to flash crimson as it moved its head, young enough to be fluff, allowed me to stand near and watch it watch me.
The neighbors say, “The animals seem to find you.”
I think not. I am the intruder moved into their territory.
Speaking of territory, you are welcome in mine
Post Script: Hawk returned on the third day, perching on a telephone pole, his presence dominating  for only a moment before two mockingbirds gave him what-for, screeching, scolding, pecking at his head and  chasing him across the sky. "Annhh, annhhh, annnh, " I called as his small but mighty escorts took the lead and the rear, giving  Hawk no chance to turn back.

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