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THE HAWK
Betty Luceigh, July 2015

Being with Earth on a summer morning
before the heat of day arose,
I watched a hawk land on a topmost branch
of a nearby tree
dead from drought.
He perched elegant in his silhouette
facing the eastern glow of the sun
yet below the distant mountain.
As he preened his chest
a down white feather
loosened by his beak
joined a gentle breeze
to make visible its path across space
until it quietly settled on the ground
to tickle the dust
as if to say “I am ready to return”,
its purpose to the life of the hawk
fully served.

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