When did the red-tailed hawk become my totem? Perhaps it was in the glimpse of a past life, when the falcon-headed Egyptian god, Horus, appeared as my healer. For many years now, the hawks and I have had a connection.
On my commute to work, I would count the hawks perched in the trees at the side of the Thruway. Most ever counted: nine. Once I saw a bird mantling her prey. Once I saw a mated pair sitting next to each other on a branch, but looking in opposite directions as if embarrassed to be so close. I got into the habit of saluting each hawk I spied, and I still do.
Ladythorn is still my email, even though I no longer live at Ladythorn Place, the house we sold in January. The name suits me, as I see myself as female but prickly. At the old house, a pair of red-tails raised their young each year. When the chicks were fledging, they would fly from tree to tree, screeching to be fed.
Once I came upon three of the young hawks sitting on the road in our neighborhood, looking bewildered. They didn’t fly off when I drove by.
Here’s a poem I wrote:
She soars and screams
her raging cry.
Her razor wings cut the sky.
She sees the rolling world unfold,
And splits the dawn in plumes of gold.
One thought on “Red Tail”
our poem simply and beautifully evokes my feeling when I see one winging across the sky