Hawk Watch

This morning broke with the urgent, incessant, and mournful calling of a hawk rising out of the thick fog that erased the small valley beyond the back yard. Rising out of that fog (and the middle of a spectacular view on a clear day), a lone extra-wide redwood tree provided a place to rest. Through my binoculars, I could see it was a fully mature red-tail. I could also see it was uneasy. Its head scanned all about. It shifted on its talons with a yearning to take off again, but
something impeded its mission. The fog perhaps? It called and it called, its lonesome screech stretching out over the fog line and disappearing into the mist somewhere in San Rafael. It would take off from the tree top, soar across the fog bank towards Mill Valley, then back across again towards the bay. It would return, rest, and call some more. Finally, around 8:30, it took off for the last time. It headed towards Mill Valley, but this time, when it returned, it was followed by another hawk, one about two-thirds its size and with the pale gray and white markings of a juvenile red-tail. I don't know if adults accompany juveniles along their coastal migration; I'll have to look it up. I couldn't help but be reminded of a recent tough-love talk I had with Maggie about why she shouldn't return from her travels in Europe with only pub-crawls to account for. Our wayward wanderer, wildflower in the wind.