I have had two hawk encounters in the past week.
The first time it was early morning and foggy. I was walking with Henry down the middle of the street when a hawk came right toward me. I swear, the tip of his wing almost clipped my shoulder. He was that close.
The second hawk sighting occurred on Christmas Eve. I was on a busy street and I watched as a hawk swooped from the top of a tall building and landed on the branch of a tree on the other side of the street.
“Swooped” isn’t really the right word; it was more like a bullet with wings whizzed by.
Both times, with both hawks, the world slowed down considerably.
Everything came into sharp focus.
I held my breath.
I was aware of my heart beating inside of me, of the blood pounding through me.
These kinds of things, these glorious visitations, often happen in threes.
I am keeping my eyes open for Hawk Number Three.

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