… a hawk with a very big wingspan.
I was walking alone through the neighborhood when this piercing cry broke the rainy-day silence.
Looked up to catch a hawk, riding the thermals, crying as if his life depended on it.
Grateful to see a hawk while walking uphill on a gloomy day.
Grateful to hear that shriek — chills and all — and watch the hunt, in all its primal elegance, from far below.
And grateful not to be the hunted!