Stabbing my cane at the dirt,
I focused on the path before me,
Feeling less than blessed.
But when I sought the meager shade
Of some aged mesquite trees,
Then looked up at the cloudless sky,
I saw a hawk, solitary, soaring,
Its wings spread wide,
Catching every molecule of air,
Roving upward on the thermals,
Reaping lift from simple physics.
In lazy circles, perfect figure eights,
It drifted up toward the sun disk,
Oblivious to me
And to the city all around,
Focused solely on the sky,
The ground, the breeze,
Eager for prey,
Food for its chick, fresh meat.
©2014 John I. Blair