her hawk

she awaits the afternoon storm with growing anticipation.   her heart
leaps at the wind's gentle keening, and she runs to the porch to watch.

google image

her hawk circles gracefully over the verdant pasture then cries possessively,
"this is my valley, and i will do what i want here!"

she knows his fierce eyes are hunting for prey, but she pretends he is calling
to her.   though, what he would say to such a pitiful creature is best left
unsaid.   as the wind increases in might, he heads into it and serfs the perfect
wave.

she wants to shout and sing but can only watch, speechless, in awe of the
grace and strength.   and then the rumble of distant thunder speaks for her.

love,
lea

"He makes the clouds His chariot and rides on the wings of the wind."
psalm 104:3