Small Stone, Day 7 by, D. B. Mauldin
I heard his call early this morning, the spine tingling raspy scream of the Hawk. The call that makes you look up and listen whether you want to or not. I hold him in spiritual reverence.
Over the years I have seen him often perched stately on telephone poles, then flying in circles out over the lake. Sometimes I would hear his voice from afar.
One snowy day in November he came to visit me, I looked out the window over my computer desk and there he was sitting on a fallen tree limb, silently looking at me. I stared in awe afraid to move lest he fly away before my eyes had their fill of him.
It came to me that the date was November 15, the anniversary of my maternal grandfather’s death. He had been a father to me and taught me well. I realized that the Hawk outside my window, not even 4 feet away, somehow embodied the spirit of my grandfather and was there to remind me that he was always watching over me. I acknowledged him and whispered a thanks.
I don’t see him more often than I used to and never again that close, but I hear him nearly every day. I smile and say “Thank you”, never forgetting.