The Hawk

The April morning is brisk and bright. The mockingbird sings her glorious song. Unlike other songbirds with their repetitive simplicity, her song has a stanza, chorus, bridge and refrain. Her voice is hypnotizing. I listen for a pattern wondering if there is a reason to her rhyme or does she just sing as she is inspired. I have heard her many times outside my window in the wee hours of the night with her loud and melodious voice breaking the silence. This morning her song is interrupted by the piercing cry of another lady. The shrill, high voice of a red-tailed hawk carries across the sky. Her cry is not a melodious song, but is similar to the shrieks of the seagulls on the gulf. Unlike the birds harmonizing in the trees around my porch, her loud cry is coming from across the pasture. As I follow her voice into the open field, I see her perched in a bare, massive, water oak. My presence is unnoticed or of no concern to her. Her silhouette is sleek against the cirrus clouds. From a red oak on the far side of the field, another hawk, her suitor, answers her cry. For a few minutes, they converse and then she takes to the wing. Over the wide field, she dances. Her graceful form pirouettes in the sky. Then with several strong strokes of his wings, her suitor glides across the sky to join the dance. He has no bright plumage to attract his mate, but his magnificent, sultry form appeals to her. At first, they make figure eights as their paths weave. They then become synchronized in their steps, a waltz. From nowhere, another hawk appears. A young female, is trying to cut in. Both ladies are dancing seductively, vying for his attention. The three hawks catch a current and float higher and higher as their elliptical paths criss and cross. Unable to lure him from her beautiful rival, the latecomer accepts defeat and sails away. The pair continue with their hypnotic moves. I see their silver bellies gleaming above me.
The encounter this morning turns out not to be the mating dance. I am disappointed. I was hoping that I would see the hawks mate mid-air like eagles do. What a wondrous thing that would be to watch, not a flogging on the ground like chickens or geese, but a tango in the sky. The hawks would unite in the air, then spin, dip, dive and ultimately soar away.
This morning may have not been the right time for her, but I know her internal clock is ticking. Their dance will happen soon.