Hawks

 

February 11, 2024

Slept in this house for the first time on this night ten years ago. A decade. Still think of it as “my new house.”

Cold rain. Bach from the implement downstairs.

GMC had its Valentine’s fundraiser last night-- effort palpably larger than reward, but everyone seems to have had fun and to feel pleased with the results, so, fine. We charged enough money that we should have exercised some quality control on the individual acts. There were five or six too many of them, and while half were fine and engaging, half were not. Some were cringe-worthy. I don’t mind Boys’ Own Talent Show, but it should be separate from a paying event. Did the audience like it? I think they did. I had fun performing, though something threw my back out and I had to get off the risers with a yelp of pain.  All part of the process . . . Anyway, back is fine this AM, and I think of last night fondly. 

Arrived at church, got out of my car, was confronted by a sharp-shinned hawk, standing on the lawn, glaring at me. He let out a scream of challenge, then flew to his mate in a great sycamore. Had I interrupted romance? I assumed they were answers to our prayers concerning the superabundance of moles. When the hawk screamed at me, it was with such wild defiance that I loved him immediately. In church I contemplated the blessing and possible message of the hawk sighting. God and I have been locked in battle recently, and I wondered if maybe God loves those who stand up to him as I loved the hawk standing his ground in the winter rain. Hawk could fly to his mate in the skies. I have nowhere to go.