the scream came from far off. it came again, close this time. another from somewhere over to my right. silence for a moment; then they came swooping in. four of them, one following the other, slid silently across the road in front of me.
i had been watching all summer, waiting, somewhat impatiently, for this moment. four baby hawks, wings finally big enough to hold them aloft, slipped by silently and separated to land in four palm trees framed by my front window. oh such a joyous sight to behold!
following the every move of the quartet’s parents had become a favorite pastime of anyone and everyone at the pool. we shared stories of what we’d observed the day before or an hour ago, as the pair flew off to find food and returned to nourish their chirping offspring.
the babies sat deeply snug in their nest high up in a tall palm tree, only an occasional bit of fluff visible to us on the ground. and we waited. and we waited. and waited. then suddenly, here, framed in my own window, the scene so anticipated unfolded before my eyes.
the beauty in their wings, the freedom of their flight, was delightful, as they swooped from palm tree to palm tree, playing games of tag with one another. from the direction of the pool came a louder, more urgent scream – mother hawk calling her young to dinner. all four, strung high across the sky, responded to her call and, in a instant, were gone.