He is there again. I have lost count of how many times I have seen him there. He is perched on the fountain, looking like a statue, not a feather out of place, a Greek god. Of course he watches me and tenses his talons, ready for the lunge that will lift him into flight. To say he is handsome understates his elegant dignity. Why he perches there on the lip of the fountain I don't know. Maybe he contemplates his visage in the reflection, wonders if it is all worth it. I doubt it. He is too full of life for such petty ruminations. Life is to be embraced, he says, lit with passion and risk. I am glad he is here. With the world of wild creatures in decline he thrives here in close contact with humans. At least there is that. At least there is a Cooper's hawk that sits on my fountain in front of the place I call home for now. With a heart crying out for contact with wild wisdom, at least there is that.
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