I think of you
I miss you
I ache on your behalf
Lacking actions or words that can heal you
I am at a loss
Far away with helpless, taskless hands waving uselessly in the air at the end of shrugging shoulders
Wishing we could sing or dance or walk together to take your mind
Away from the pain
Away from the past
Toward the the new chapter in your life
Where I, too, need a new place
Or maybe an old one
Where I need to find my way
My role
In a landscape of your creation
Your control
Your choices
and mine.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Hawks in Spring!
Red-tailed hawk eggs are hatching in Ithaca, NY, at the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology. You can watch!
Cornell Hawk-Cam watching Big Red & Ezra nesting.
I'm sad to report that there are no eggs in the Cooper's hawk nest around the block, where we've watched a pair of hawks raise broods for three or four years in a row. The hawks have not returned this year. Perhaps they are using a nest somewhere nearby. Or perhaps something happened to one or both of them. All I know is that I have missed seeing them adding sticks to the nest in preparation for eggs and chicks.
Later this spring, I will miss the mother's imperious look from forty feet up in a tree as I shift my position on the sidewalk below to gain a better view of her face or her tail, or, even later in the season, the heads of her curious young poking up over the edge of the nest. I will miss hearing the male and female call to each other to signal a changing of the guard or the delivery of fresh food. I'll even miss the splatter painting on the street below the nest as it grows with the chicks, who learn (or instinctively know) to lift their hindquarters over the rim before releasing waste so as to keep their lofty home clean.
In mid-summer, I will miss the excitement of young hawks leaving the nest for the first time--tentatively trying their wings as they hop along a branch, then from branch to branch, and eventually figure out how to actually fly. I have watched this process for many hours over the last several summers. It never grows old, though my feet and legs get tired and my neck gets stiff. Getting to watch my very own live episode of Wild Kingdom is worth the discomfort.
Cornell Hawk-Cam watching Big Red & Ezra nesting.
I'm sad to report that there are no eggs in the Cooper's hawk nest around the block, where we've watched a pair of hawks raise broods for three or four years in a row. The hawks have not returned this year. Perhaps they are using a nest somewhere nearby. Or perhaps something happened to one or both of them. All I know is that I have missed seeing them adding sticks to the nest in preparation for eggs and chicks.
Later this spring, I will miss the mother's imperious look from forty feet up in a tree as I shift my position on the sidewalk below to gain a better view of her face or her tail, or, even later in the season, the heads of her curious young poking up over the edge of the nest. I will miss hearing the male and female call to each other to signal a changing of the guard or the delivery of fresh food. I'll even miss the splatter painting on the street below the nest as it grows with the chicks, who learn (or instinctively know) to lift their hindquarters over the rim before releasing waste so as to keep their lofty home clean.
In mid-summer, I will miss the excitement of young hawks leaving the nest for the first time--tentatively trying their wings as they hop along a branch, then from branch to branch, and eventually figure out how to actually fly. I have watched this process for many hours over the last several summers. It never grows old, though my feet and legs get tired and my neck gets stiff. Getting to watch my very own live episode of Wild Kingdom is worth the discomfort.
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