And People Call These "Weeds"

I'll never understand.

Free as a Bird.

Never once in my life did I stop to think about how sad birds sound when they sing from tree branches.

Not until today, that is.

A co-worker and I were walking out to my car for lunch when something rushed into the thick in front of us. Though she only heard the sound of something large entering the foliage (and saw the subsequent thrashing of leaves), I actually saw the act.

It was a large brown bird — surely not a hawk — possibly a seagull with some brown tinting.

But as soon as she asked "What was that?" the thing emerged again, large beak and all just a foot from our feet as it leapt into the air, carrying a much smaller bird in its talons.

It was, indeed, a hawk. And the most up-close view I've ever had of one, at that. And though, yes, it was cool to look at (even if only for a flash), I spent the rest of my lunch break thinking about the horror I'd just seen.

I mean, I realize everything has to eat, and hawks are by nature carnivores. They can't help it. It's what they do.

Add to that they're one of the most interesting birds to behold, and it's hard to begrudge them their instinct.

But, still, there's a part of me that can't stop seeing that other bird — not much bigger than a sparrow — carried supine through the air. Can't stop hearing its mate crying, loudly, from a nearby tree. Or the other birds that chimed in, suddenly appearing from the tops of light poles and lamp posts, singing what may very well have been a funeral march.