When the hawk watches

This little hawk, who found his way to our deck the morning before I left for camp, greeted me again this morning when I went out for a meditative walk.

It's something I rarely do -- go out walking in the morning -- but for some reason this morning it felt like the right thing to do, so I decided to spend my meditation time walking instead of sitting, and chose to think of it as a way of supporting my dear friends and neighbors who are in Florida sitting vigil at their son's bedside (she does a meditation walk every day).

About halfway down the street, right where the mailboxes are clustered, I saw the hawk again, sitting on the phone wire, just watching.  So I moved very slowly and quietly, carefully not looking up at him,  and right when I got to the spot below his perch he flew away.

Oh, dear, I thought -- so often birds in my life have been indicators of souls moving on.  So I wasn't too surprised to come home and find a note announcing my neighbors' son had passed away this morning.  But my heart aches for them.

It's been a rough week on our street; three deaths, an emergency operation, and a cancer diagnosis.  And my husband's gone off to Portland to care for a friend who's developed some serious complications with a brain tumor.  At times like this we are all too aware of the fragility of human life -- of all life, really.  There's nothing we can do but hold all of it in our hearts with prayer -- and maybe stop to think: how would I be living differently now, if I knew this week were my last?  Who needs to hear "I love you" or "Thank you" or "I'm sorry I hurt you" today?

Walk quietly, dear friends: the hawk is watching.