His wing

Scythes down another day, his motion

Is that of the honed steel-edge, we hear

The crashless fall of stalks of Time.

from Evening Hawk by Robert Penn Warren

Watching a Red-tailed Hawk soar in circles over our backyard eyeing, no doubt, our chickens or, God forbid, our small dogs, I think of Harlow, my late father-in-law. Harlow always said that he would return as a hawk so that he could soar freely in the currents of air and continue his keen-eyed wonder at nature. And whenever we see a hawk, we naturally think of Harlow - and, with that, of course, his wish has been granted.

In fact hawks have for all time and by all people been considered messengers from the spirit world or the gods. They are also symbols of wisdom, vision, and leadership - traits that seem in short supply in some sectors of our national scene these days, but hopefully kindling among new leaders.

The hawks nesting near our house seem to be red-tailed hawks doing their summer breeding. In the fall, they and their brethren will rise up and fly thousands of miles to the south - as far as southern Brazil. Unlike many species, they will make this journey entirely over land - the “long way” as it were - avoiding any flight over salt water.

While solitary birds, migrating hawks along with other raptors can be seen “kettling” up into groups called, well, kettles, in which as many as a thousand birds will seem to soar, climb, swoop and dive as one. In fact, each bird is following its individually most efficient path through the currents and funnels of wind and air giving only the illusion of an amazing synchronous swim. With luck, maybe I can share some photos of a kettle of hawks in the fall.

Look! Look! he is climbing the last light

Who knows neither Time nor error, and under

Whose eye, unforgiving, the world, unforgiven, swings

Into shadow.

Good night, Harlow.