The Red Tailed Hawk

Just sitting beside a creek in San Luis Obispo heals one's troubled spirit.  My friends Lorna and Pat built a patio by the water.  I sat on their bench one day and stared at a Red-tailed Hawk sitting on an  overhanging Sycamore branch.  Slowly a mystical mist spread around the hawk.  A communion, if you will.  45 minutes passed in a moment.  So taken was I by this experience that I wanted to share it with Lorna and Pat.  They came out and looked at the magnificent bird.  "I think it's eating something," I said.   "It's a gopher or a mouse," said Pat.  I shook my head, "No.   It's a fish."  Lorna brought us binoculars.  I looked.   "Yep.  A fish.  A big fish."  Pat looked through the glasses and turned an Irish red as he shouted, "That bird is eating the Steelhead Trout I've been feeding hot dogs to for three years!"  We watched as the hawk rose gracefully in the sky, carrying Pat's fish.

Hector the Bull Snake

©
Diana DeMille
October 10, 1998