The hawk is upright, white breast fathers puffed out, relaxed, silhouetted against a cerulean blue sky on the dark bare branches of the tall walnut tree.

(A photo of the walnut tree this morning in the rain.)

At his back are five crows four feet away, making loud squawks, sounds more human than crow, hanging in the air.

The hawk lifted off and the crows followed, not afraid to dive bomb the bigger bird. The hawk rested in a tree across the road. I smiled and watched as this repeated itself taking then out of sight and earshot. I feel lucky and am still smiling that I was witness to this.

Years ago, in the back woods there were similar noises and later we came upon a hawk eating a young crow. The hawk flew away, the crow forgotten. We noticed one big beautiful hawk feather on our path.

A pair of hawks, hatched out two chicks in the loblolly pine, one street over from my back deck. The springtime was filled with their flights. There was an open arena of sky, between my eyes and the hawks. Outside in morning meditation, I opened my eyes to observe the two young hawks preening on my fence posts in the back of the yard. A lovely vision to spy    on.

(A photo of the Walnut tree last summer. I usually face it to see the rising sun.)

Let the crows of doubt and fear stay well behind you and even when they manage to pick a feather out of you or dive bomb you, you glide to another beautiful tree in your life.

And once in a while, you can take your fears and doubts down, leaving nothing of them but a small-disembodied feather, floating against the blue sky. The crow and his satchels of useless secret missiles well digested. And the white hawk in flight nearby.