Hawk Medicine
She Will Not Be Quiet: A (mostly daily, mostly unedited) writing practice
Day #237 of (mostly unedited, mostly daily) writing/sharing.
Hawk Medicine
After the scary news, after I cancel the class, wipe the tears, forget how to breathe, I sit by the window, and immediately, a hawk lands on the mossy backyard fence, meets my eyes from the other side. The hawk looks in. I look out. Eyes meeting eyes. And then, my breath. I remember my breath, remember that I am not alone. I breathe again. I say thank you. As I wait for further news, I put the kettle on, stir in the honeyed sweetness, let the hawk’s steady gaze settle settle settle, her quiet strength still with me.