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August 19, 2009

Stick therapy for a special baby hawk.

































































The baseball field grew quiet as baseball fields do when once it gets dark and peopleís desire to make obnoxious noises lessens.
The river grew quiet also as pleasure crafts disappeared with the fading sun. Suddenly as enough human noises died off I felt like the river was finally able to get a few words across to the trees over by the dumpsters. I canít imagine what a river can have to say to a tree but Iím sure whatever it is must be magical.
I kept our baby hawk in view as he nuzzled into a comfortable roost for the night. Against the branches of his chosen tree the light sky peered through the dark leaves appearing like white flower petals arranged in big bunches all around our little sleepy friend.
After a while his body merged with everything around him especially when a gentle breeze swayed the whole tree, I couldnít tell him apart from the flower petals.
A streetlight began to turn on and its brightening orange glow was determined to upset the caressing hand of darkness which reached tenderly around the baby hawk that had just began to put away from his busy mind all his exciting unfinished plans which he carried in his little head all through the day. Now all the thoughts in his head became fluffy and bouncy and bright colors slowly became soft and pale and anxiousness to splash in water turned into much dryer, warmer thoughts.
First one eye closed then the other, and the wise old river flowing to his side lulled him to sleep with many engaging stories of enchanting animals that lived here a long, long time ago when things were so much different and so much quieter that a tired young hawk back then could go to sleep listening to the mysterious sounds of twinkling stars.
When his branch swayed just as two cormorants flew overhead it rearranged the flower petal shapes around him and I fancied seeing that he was not alone on that dark branch. I felt I saw the love of his five brothers and sisters cuddled up next to him. At times I felt I saw them all there so close to him making his night comfortable and peaceful.
There must be a lot of magic stirring up when soft, mellow darkness reaches up to caress a sleeping baby, and a river talks to a tree and gentle breezes make branches sway. If it wasnít magic that I felt when I looked up at that sleeping baby hawk then it must have only been love.



All images above photographed on Wednesday August 19, 2009.



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