On another morning I’m sitting on the deck with books—reading, pausing to be present, and reading some more. A noisy bird down on the ridge behind the trees distracts me. I watch and wait to catch a glimpse of the quiet-stealer.
It turns out to be not one, but two, hawks, and of them has a snake in its talons. They swoop and glide together across the sky, and I can’t tell which one is making all the noise.
Maybe the snakeless hawk is taunting the other, attempting to trick him into dropping his lunch. Or perhaps the successful hunter is telling the tormentor he might as well move on because this snake is his. Either way, it’s fascinating.
I put down my book, stand up, and watch them soar—worrying, just a bit, that the hawk will drop the snake and it will land on top of me. Before long, they disappear from my sight and I’m left with a lingering wonder.
I sit down, pick up my book, and return to a place where I find more.