Flying Low and Slow

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I went to Forsyth, Georgia to see my sister yesterday. As I turned on Roberts Farm Road a hawk swooped down in front of my Outback. The bird in full wingspan and gliding through the airwaves allowed me to see its claws, the cornucopia of brown and red hued feathers along with its spotted markings under the wings. I slowed to take in the bird’s magnificent beauty. To my surprise the hawk floated in front of me, guided me, and we traveled the same speed for several seconds. I listened.

When the hawk banked right and flew away, I felt blessed.

(I saw hawks circling at both my father and brother’s funerals. They brought me peace.)