The Hawk

 

The hawk flew low and into the wind on this clear day.  He screamed defiance at the world below as he made his way into the strong wind.  Many times, he screamed as his flight carried him directly over my head.  Quite unexpectedly, I felt a sense of awe for this bird’s audacity and his spirit.    Awe turned to envy; envious of the truly free.

 

Am I but a trained falcon; tethered by a cord, tasting limited episodes of freedom on a short leash?  The wild hawk takes his own chances and pays his own dues.  Many nights he is cold; he is sometimes hungry; most times alone; but he is always free.

 

Then the envy turned to a slight touch of sadness for all that’s been lost.

 

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