Something Wild: Red-Tailed Hawk

I am a very fortunate girl. Most week day mornings find me driving east into the rising sun, often into clearing skies. I frequently see such beauties on my drive to work. No, I do not dream of sleeping in. How could I miss the mornings, which are the best part of the day?

On quite a few mornings lately, I have seen a red-tailed hawk perched on the lamp post overlooking the exit off the interstate to the building where I work. I saw the same bird three days in a row last week: the one day, wearing rumpled, spotty, hawk-pajamas, which made me laugh. But on this day, the bird was looking a little more neatly dressed; regal; photo-worthy.

There are at least two red-tailed hawks that patrol the meadows and trees near the building where I work. They stalk the pigeons that sit near the freeway. And I've also seen them dive into the grass seeking prey. Maybe a mouse or a snake. I wish them good hunting.

My strategy for photographing the hawk is to pull under one of the two nearby overpasses, put my car window down, and photograph the bird through the window. On at least one occasion, I've crawled through the sunroof of my Mazda to get pictures of the hawk (by the way, Mazda calls it a moon roof; I actually like that better, as you all know of my not-so-clandestine love affair with the moon). Hawks are wary birds, though, with keen eyesight. And as soon as they catch wind of what I'm up to, they often take to flight.

My Blip journal often includes pictures of the creatures I've met in my daily travels. My subject matter tends toward cute bunnies and such. You wouldn't think I'd be a fan of raptors, but I am. I have made 13 books with my photos to date, and I always try to include in each one both photos of the "cute" creatures I meet, as well as a photo or two of the raptors that stalk them.

For me, the raptor is a memento mori of sorts. In the web of life, the raptor is a reminder that life is short; that we should seize the day, for death is coming, perhaps way too soon.

Some of you will remember the little hawk I tried to save. A kestrel, to be exact. She didn't make it in spite of my attempts, and it broke my heart. Something about that experience changed me; changed things between me and hawks for good. I think it happened the moment I touched her, and with great wonder, felt her wild beating heart in my hand.

So now I look for hawks everywhere. I find them more often than you might think: the thick bottle shape of a hawk body along the top of the tree line, the swoop of a wing in the air. Above me, I hear their wild cries. And inside me, the wild heart answers.

This is not a picture of a bird on a wire. It is a picture of a bird on a lamp post. However, I like this tune by Leonard Cohen, and I've wanted to use it for a while. So here it is: Leonard Cohen, with Bird on a Wire. I'm also adding a link to a fine cover of the same tune performed by Johnny Cash.

I have tried - in my own way - to be free.

Stay wild, my friends.