I held a memorial service for a hawk last night.
One of the pair I have been seeing quite regularly since moving to McIntosh was found dead in our backyard. Its mate, to me, seemed noticeably upset. It doesn't seem natural that a hawk would stay in such close proximity to humans and human activity. Maybe she had an intuition, maybe she knew we would be okay with her being close by, maybe she just wasn't ready to leave her mate. Regardless, she just lingered around while JM mowed, and while Dominic worked on his tricycle, and while I moved about the yard picking up moss and sticks. She stayed mostly overhead, observing from a reasonable distance - sometimes swooping down through the yard just a foot or so off the ground before pulling up and landing on another branch. And then for a period, she was standing in the grass 10, maybe 15 feet away from the moving mower. I reveled at how quickly Dominic was able to spot her after just a few sweeps through the yard. "There she is!" he'd proudly exclaim while pointing into the trees. And at the same time, I felt so incredibly sad because why would a hawk just happen to be hanging around the same time we stumble upon a nearly identical one, dead in the grass except because she was mourning, except because he was her mate?
It was right before dusk when I had the moment of silence. I didn't see her then, but I know she wasn't far. Maybe it seems silly to hear I am so affected by a dead bird. It's not just the dead bird though. It is his mate and her broken heart. I hope she stays around; I hope I continue to see her in all the familiar places.
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