Red Tail

red tail

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.

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Here’s a poem I wrote:

 

Red Tail

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.

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