Sky-high in early morning blue
a hawk calls
thin, shrill cries echo canyons
back of my home.
Another hawk joins the first
I watch them circle,
meet, and part in these aerial exchanges,
curious about information they share.

They’re up there every day
in that huge blue dome,
the perfect home for such beauty
speed and grace
that I marvel each time
they call, meet momentarily
then fall away in larger arcs
that endless sky their place.

Silent, they glide into the trees
where doves gather to eat seeds
from my backyard feeder.
Unseen, back-lit by bright sunrise,
sharp-eyed hunters strike.
Only soft gray feathers float to earth
as hawks departs with taloned pray
to feed, to fly another day.

An hour later doves return to eat,
raking seeds with tiny feet to find the best
ones the others left behind.
What balance – this exchange of life;
no animosity, no greed, no motives
but to repeat what natures asks
that keeps the cycle turning.
Gee, I hope I’m learning.

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