Blue Hawk, Red Heart
Being consumed by a gradual avalanche is extended death.
Everything collects on the floor of the valley the way pain and
confusion come together in the blues. Coal dust darkens both
sides of the picture window. Heat burns oxygen into brittle
pieces as I inhale, turning my lungs into parchment. Though
tired, I’m too scared to stop running in place ‘cause I may
never move again.
The walls are also in constant motion. Maple, Chestnut,
Birch, Pine and Spruce gently gather me beneath layers of
foliage. The course up the mountainside is uneven and strewn
with brush, vines and trees returning to dust. With each step,
distractions fall into places my feet once occupied. The tangle
loosens its grasp. A clearing appears. It is filled with pure grass
and sprinkled with seedlings. A large gray rock in the center
fills the only bare spot.
Unfiltered light caresses my bare skin; I begin sinking
into the thick, green cushion. The last bit of tension slips
away as my eyelids unwind. For the first time, I notice the
unusual quietness. There are no birds holding conversations,
no chipmunks rushing about, no wind brushing by and no
bugs doing what they do best — even ants are absent. Silence
stills me. I drift on sifted sands that were once quickening
thoughts while the day moves on without me.
Slowly, and then all at once, the way shadows appear,
I resurface. I tremble beneath a hovering shade though it
covers me like a blanket. Instinctively I turn toward the rock.
Something stirs; my vision clears, and the looming giant
becomes a hawk.
I am consumed in the light of a captivating eye filled with
the expressions of beautiful people. It considers me while
blinking in slow motion. This creature also came to rest.
Weariness has wrapped itself so tightly, it barely moves;
however, as its sideways stare digs into my bones, the stiffness
softens. A nodding head, a beak curving upward and water
falling from a winking eye indicate understanding. I exhale.
Confusing fear and painful talons release their hungry hold.
My lungs expand; the hawk stretches. As its huge wings
unfold, the undersides of its feathers reveal another unusual
feature. Light, dark, royal, sky and sea blue pigments seem
hand-mixed and individually applied. Blue-gray specks skim
the surface. One feather sparkles.
Fascination draws me closer and closer. The hawk welcomes
me by standing and fully extending its wings. They nearly fill
the clearing. I move backward, taking several steps at once. My
feet become entangled and I fall, slowly, and then all at once.
In one seamless motion, I regain my footing; but the hawk has
vanished, like an unspoken dream.
Sunbeams begin to erase the chill, one bump at a time.
Tongues of nature speak in excited tones while insects buzz
wildly to their cadence. Flowering plants display broad smiles.
Fragrances linger on breezes like fresh memories.
Everything is coming together.
One of the reasons I enjoy this story is because it protrays birds of prey another way, in a helping and healing way.