A hawk circles
catching drafts
glides into the distance
high pitched screeches
pierce invisible air

dying trees on a ridge
bare branches
glow in the sunlight
like sculptures
reaching for the sky

a perch for hawks
to hang out
large dark eyes
ocular wonders
zeroing into dry grass

last week
in the distance
barely audible  
the unmistakable buzz
of chainsaws

mounds of wood chips
a hawk flies by
skimming tree tops
close enough to touch

a flash of recognition
the hawk
the piles of wood chips

the trees are gone
empty spaces hold
their ghosts

I take a moment
to pause
find my breath
connect the fragments

to be present
feel the loss
see the beauty of the trees
hawks flying
to and from their branches

a moment to mourn
to honor
to be grateful

a prayer
a wish
may you all be safe
may you all find home
may you all come back

Trees on Ridge-4Hawk on branch-2Tree Ghosts 1-3


Categories: Landscapes, Photography, The Journey, Trees, WritingsTags: , , , , , , ,


  1. Your poem started out hopeful and then I felt bereft for the hawk. Beautifully written with lovely images.

    Liked by 1 person

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