Please scroll down to the bottom of the page to Saga #1, which is the beginning of the story …

Papa Hawk swooped down and in mid-air snatched the fleeing pigeon with his talons and then dropped to the ground. He ripped at the bird, tearing through plumages to feast on the fleshy, eatable parts. The savagery of his attack shocked me. Queasy, I witnessed my talisman grab what flesh remained, ascend into the air, and fly in the direction of the family’s nest.

If I chose to spy on him, it was essential to remember who he really was. A predator designed to hunt; a hawk whose family depended on his skill and on his daily performances. My judgment of his act was naive. His actions were natural; I was the intruder.

The next morning, Papa Hawk glided down to the top of the evergreen and stared intently at me from across the distance, as if the time had arrived to deliver a private message.

This bird had become my talisman, my totem, and the keeper of my dreams. He appeared on days that would be the most creative for me, days that moved me closer to acheiving my lifetime dream, and those days of discovering a right path to be on and remaining there. And now, Papa Hawk captured my perception by his intensity, and within these transfixed moments, I listen with my heart and heard his wisdom.

The blue jays caught him unaware, not concentrating on their flapping wings or hearing their misguided squawking. He shook his head in annoyance, but they kept up their badgering. They tried to land on his head.

Papa Hawk quickly ascended, but the blue jays kept up with his speed, flying near the top of his head. This vicious, alarming dance between the three of them was acted out in the sky to the south of the evergreen. Then, they all disappeared.

In a panic, I gasped. What had happened?

It seemed like an eternity before the three came back into view. Papa Hawk twisted and turned in flight, as if to shake off the blue jays’ nasty attack, but they seemed to be winning the battle.

Suddenly, Papa Hawk’s wings closed against his body. He dove headfirst to earth, with the blue jays riding on the top of his head like passengers. My talisman did not reappear, nor did the blue jays.

Distraught, I waited for Papa Hawk throughout the day. My restless night became one of nightmares and sorrow.

At the break of dawn, a blue jay roosted, triumphantly, at the top of Papa Hawk’s favorite evergreen. I knew then my talisman had been murdered.

Papa Hawk’s demise remained a mystery to me. How did those nagging blue jays bring him down? A hawk has phenomenal eyesight, but I soon discovered they lack peripheral vision. The blue jays had finally gotten close enough to peck his eyes, blinding him.

Perseverance and cunning can overcome a dangerous opponent in nature and in life. But, how do you determine who the dangerous one is.

Grief is persuasive, a constant reminder of uninvited vacancies and unwanted disappearances from our lives.

Papa Hawk’s death held me in limbo, angered me, but finally let me go, when Mama Hawk raced by my window several weeks later. She glided back a second time and tilted her wing at me.

I raced out to my balcony, speechless.

Mama Hawk circled back for a third fly-by, and then glided to the same tree she and Papa Hawk had shared in their courting days. Yes, the leafless tree that pokes up from behind the evergreens.

She navigated to one of the twig-like branches, and perched above two young hawks. Her’s and Papa Hawk’s offspring!

Quickly going onto my balcony, I waved both hands for her to see. Tears of gratitude streamed now my cheeks. My original talisman would not be back, but his entire family would be. There would be generations of talisman for me to meet, and I’d be waiting to spy on each and every one of them.

Photos from the Internet