Wednesday was a day for the birds. It was a beautifully warm day—too warm for the first week of March. Certainly the month did not come in like a lion. As we drove out to Sussex, everywhere red hawks swooped low over the roads. They are so graceful. Whenever I see a hawk I find myself singing the line from Oklahoma—“Ev'ry night my honey lamb and I, Sit alone and talk and watch a hawk makin' lazy circles in the sky.”
At the lake we were greeted, serenaded by bird song. Everywhere there were tweets and warbles, chirps and trills. I sat at the edge of the dock, just enjoying the symphony. The hawks were showing off here too. Suddenly there were seven of them all making large, slow counterclockwise circles over our end of the lake. I don’t think hawks eat fish. Were they simply enjoying the thrill of riding the wind? My husband and I watched in fascination. They defined similar, but non-intersecting circles at different heights. What flight controller had planned their paths?
One hawk came low enough to brush the bare branches of a nearby tree. Then he angled his right wing and, continuing his circle, caught an updraft. How I wished I could soar with him.
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