Last week, the first week of the New Year, I saw three hawks.
One down by the lake–the rising sun colored the underside of his wings gold.
The second was sitting on a porch railing, and he took off with a single, powerful pump of his wings when I walked by.
And the third was being chased through the sky by two angry crows. The crows were winning–scolding the hawk loudly, as they chased him away.
Three hawks—each hawk a gift, a glory, a surprise.
Each hawk a chance to look up, to see.
Happy New Year.

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