Marsha Stephens, Author

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

MAMA HAWK

In the weeks that followed her initial desertion, awareness and trust grew between Papa and Mama Hawk. She learned a mother should never abandon the nest, and he accepted the role of provider. He became an expert at detecting and swooping down on his prey. Mama Hawk never went hungry.

PAPA HAWK

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Whenever Papa Hawk perched for longer periods near the nest, Mama Hawk would raise herself carefully, stretch out, and fly in circles nearby. She exercised, as he played babysitter over their nest.

MAMA HAWK

PAPA HAWK

Papa Hawk’s favorite lookout remained the top of the evergreen tree. The breeze cooled him, and the roost offered an unobstructed view. From this advantage, he hunted for prey. The annoyed blue jays often squawked. After all, they had their own nest to protect and were unhappy with the intrusive predator. The bizarre, early dawn gathering of these natural enemies became a ritual.

I spied on them, confused by the hawk’s tolerance towards the blue jays and mystified by their persistent boldness. And then, eggs begin to hatch.

THE BLUE JAYS

The newly hatched blue jays squeaked in weak unison, begging to be fed.

The hawk arrivals, however, screamed in high-pitched, irritating tones. Papa Hawk hunted with a vengeance, bringing food often to Mama Hawk to feed their offspring, and then quickly leaving to seek more prey. Even after leaving the nest, the fledglings continued to screech for food, disturbing the otherwise peaceful surroundings.

SECTIONS OF THE VAST INHABITANT USED BY  BOTH SETS OF PARENTS

The hot summer brought me to my window often. Every now and then, Papa Hawk would favor me with a direct look and a fast fly by with his wing tilted, as if he were waving at me again. He was still my talisman, after all. He had charisma, and all the characteristics for being an exceptional family man. I didn’t understand why he let the blue jays bully him, but then, there was so much more about him to be valued.

The blue jays, on the other hand, became more and more agitated, as Papa Hawk surveyed his world at the top of the evergreen tree. Their attacks became more vicious, once their offspring struggled to fly. The hawk refused to give way. He’d fly off for a while, giving the jays a reprieve, but then he’d reappear.

Nature plays a role in balancing creation, but it doesn’t necessarily do it in the way one might expect. Alarms were sounding; a showdown between the two sets of parents was inevitable.

To be continued…

Nature played with wind and rain and tossed harsh reality on Mama Hawk as she possessively settled over the three eggs. Papa Hawk hunted before the storm and had fortified her with nourishment. Mama Hawk hunched lower. Rain rapped at her feathers, but then dripped though the construction of twigs and branches. Violent air whistled across the same crevices, but the nest lining of leaves and evergreen needles shifted but remained intact.

Papa Hawk hovered by the nest. With the first crack of lighting, he moved even closer. With the second loud boom, he cushioned his frame against the twigged habitat to shield Mama Hawk and the eggs. The storm lasted for hours.

There is not always a rainbow at the end of a storm, but there is often a sense of relief. Papa Hawk cautiously moved away from the nest and positioned himself on another branch, before he briskly shook himself. Satisfied with his defensive storm performance, he puffed his feathers and peered down at Mama Hawk, watching her ruffle her feathers.

Thankful the rain had stopped plummeting down on her, Mama Hawk cautiously raised herself off the eggs. Just two remained.

One had been crushed!

Dismayed, she stretched her wings, rose with a fast moving current and flew away from the nest and from Papa Hawk. She had been so careful, but still one of the eggs had been destroyed. Her first nesting and it had already gone awry. How could she face Papa Hawk? She had killed an egg!

Papa Hawk sensed distress and looked down at the nest. Where there had been three, he now saw two. As Mama Hawk glided farther away from him, Papa Hawk swiftly ascended and chased after her.

The hawk continued his daily routine, posing on a stick-thin branch below the forked top of the angular, leafless tree that stuck out above the evergreens. He snubbed me each morning with his royal feathered back, searching instead in other directions, but then he would turn and stare at my balcony. Soon after, he would upsurge and glide to his favorite position at the top of the tallest evergreen and hunt again for whatever he seemed to be looking to find. He never hung out there for long, as now another blue jay had joined the first and each day they tormented the timid hawk into vacating his coveted top of the tree.

My talisman was proving to be less-than-brave and quite timid in combat!

One morning, I looked out to see a second hawk, resting on one of the branches of the angular tree. Papa Hawk was showing off by gliding and twirling in the air. Soon the second hawk took off into the sky and followed him, copying his performance. They dove and rose in the air like acrobats, playing in the wind. Oh, my. Were they flirting?

The second hawk was larger. Oh, wow! Was Papa Hawk really a female?

Flipping through the pages of a bird guide, I discovered both flyers had the characteristics of the Red-tailed Hawk, and the female was larger than the male.

Papa Hawk’s given name could endure; his gliding partner would become Mama Hawk. I watched them come to rest on the angular tree and imagined them planning their nest as they anticipated an imminent family. The bird guide indicated the hawks would mate for life and be monogamous, returning each year to build or repair their nest before starting another family. Such an enduring, happy romance, and it could be viewed from my balcony!

The binoculars provided a much closer view of the trees across the street, and the hawk seemed to know he was being spied upon. He turned slowly, as if to make sure I saw the color of his feathers and the shape of his head from every angle. He was handsome and knew it!

Suddenly, he took off into the air and flew in a wide circle before roosting on the top of a huge evergreen. I swear he looked right at me as he settled majestically on the peak of the tree. As I watched from my balcony, a blue jay flew out from a lower branch of the same tree and began fluttering around Papa Hawk’s head, taking jabs at him and squawking. I was amazed at the audacity of the small bird.

The hawk ignored the intrusion; the blue jay persisted.

The battle continued, until the hawk seemed to grow weary of the noise. He rocked his head left to right in annoyance; the blue jay measured its distance but kept up the racket. Papa Hawk raised his wings, spread them out from his frame, and caught the next wave of wind. He gracefully traveled across the road and landed on top of the light post in front of my balcony.

The blue jay swooped down from the top of the evergreen to a lower branch and disappeared, probably to a hidden nest it was protecting. It surprised me to see the hawk give way to the noisy, little bird.

Is persistence than greater in nature than strength of size? Next, I’ll introduce you to Mama Hawk, and we’ll see if she has any answers.

A hawk just swooped down from the roof of the building and hesitated in front of my balcony, before it glided south and disappeared. Yesterday, there were two chasing one another; they finally landed on the twig-like branches of a tall, narrow and leafless tree that pokes up from behind a mass of enormous evergreens that dominate the landscape across the street from me. Admittedly, I’ve stalked these familiar hawks for years now.

It started with Papa Hawk, watching me watch him. Or, so it seemed. He roosted on top of an enormous evergreen and stared often in my direction. Everyone assured me he was checking his territory for an edible meal. I imagined he was my talisman, trying to make eye contact with me to convey something worthwhile.

Not a usual birdwatcher, I became fascinated and started waiting for his early morning arrivals to the top of the evergreen. Within several days, he glided near my balcony and tilted his wing towards me, as if to wave hello. I raced to the window, but he had disappeared. Later, someone told me the hawk often perched on the corner of the roof, looking down on his feasting territory from another favorite angle. I started doing research on his species and mentioned my feathery neighbor to all that would listen.

My next mission required a spree of shopping to find just the right pair of binoculars for further distance viewing. I watched as Papa Hawk had numerous adventures: He courted his mate, showed off his offspring, and fought off attacks from the neighborhood bullies, known as Blue Jays. Stop by again to share in his adventures.