It was a cool day today on the highway and my 16-year old, air-cooled bike rode like a new model. The only sound between me and the tarmac was thunder.
["Sorry. Nothing left to see but an old fence post": photos GH]
I knew the young hawk - my dad would have called him an ‘immature’; I call him a teenager - would be gone by the time I slowed down, did a slow U-turn and returned to a spot about 30 meters away from the fence post upon which he perched.
["Nothing but soy beans on the other side of the road"]
He wasn’t gone. But I knew I had once chance in ten of getting a good shot.
And moments after I parked my bike at the side of the road and seconds before I could take a picture he spotted me and flew the coop.
What a beautiful sight he was.
The teen wrote poetry in the sky with his five-foot wing span.
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