This was one of several close sightings here in Marietta, Georgia – added to those I had at my former home in East Haddam, Connecticut. It was there that I first got close enough to a hawk to lock eyes with one; I was walking through a little wooded area between the road and my house and came upon a scene that became commonplace: hawk eating prey, unmoved by my presence.
My first Marietta hawk encounter came on my first day in the house, back in June. Inside, walking toward the front, I looked through the glass storm door and stopped in my tracks, as a hawk flew in for a landing on top of Lyn's Prius. The hawk was gone before she got to the door. Hawks aplenty live around here, building nests high in trees, soaring the skies, riding the winds, screaming – and presumably catching their share of voles, moles and squirrels.
That said, I had never had a hawk visit the picket fence with such comfortable distraction as did one the other day. Through my writing-room window, I saw the big bird land and fluff its wings before settling down. I pointed the camera and caught the hawk looking to its right . . .
. . . then to its left . . .
Or so it seemed. I certainly was looking at it, not knowing whether it was looking back at me. I'd like to think so, however. I'd also like to believe the visits mean something good. That's tempting, as the bird looks so majestic, strong, confident.
I have read of meanings, including hawks' roles as spiritual protectors, and as messengers, urging humans to focus, to pay attention, avoid distractions. What hawk visits mean or don't mean cannot be proved, of course. I do know they mean something to me. Years ago I collected hawk feathers in Connecticut as I walked through the field that was part of our property. I still have them.
Wedged in the edge of my writing desk, those feathers always made me feel good. That message, simple, profound, was immediate and lasting. Full of power and meaning.