The osprey is the first thing you hear in Maine—the high pitched screeching that warns
you of trespassing into its turf. They
mate for life, build enormous nests, and return to the same one every Spring. Let’s be clear—they own the coast! One day, I just watched ospreys. Before they
dive, they climb very high into the sky, and their circles get smaller and
smaller until they just hover, almost motionless, upheld on a wisp of air. Then they tuck their head and wings into a
missile and drop stealth-like into the water to snare a fish. What a sight!
Bird of Prey
The hawk lifted me into the sky,
And we soared in circles,
Into a whirlpool of brown
feathers,
that felt like freedom,
uplifted and suspended to
see,
from the center of the
world,
when suddenly it dropped
me,
and dove with death for a
sparrow,
And plucked it like an apple,
From the tree of life.
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