Hawks at Pipestone

Then something passed very fast over my head.

Two hawks circled each other, swooping and gliding, falling and flying in patterns only they understood. They might have been playing, or courting. Maybe they were dancing. Sunlight shone through luminous wings, angel white against cool cloudless blue.

Rooted to the rock, I was mesmerized by their superhuman grace. But I wanted to join them. I wanted to dance too in that blue-white stream, floating and gliding, drifting, emergent in spins and curves of innate inhuman equation, soaring in circles that made no sense except to the sky.

Without warning, one of the hawks flew off, hurtling west, vanishing into the blinding glare of orange brilliance suspended above the line of trees. The other hawk circled alone.

I turned to go.

Excerpted from A Transcendental Journey