99 Words...and a little bit more
Mom says this is something I have to do. I don’t see why, she’s doing an awesome job bringing us food while we check out the landscape from our home up here in the tree branches. But, oh no, nothing doing, today’s the day she just screeched from over my head. It’s easy for her; she’s been doing it for years. Of course, my sister did as she was told and is now showing off flapping her wings out there over the valley. I told mom I’d try it for sure tomorrow. She said no way. Well, here goes!
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There is hardly a time when I’m cruising the gravel roads that I don’t see some wildlife and birds. The downside of the experience is finding a place to safely stop. Often it’s a ‘Whoa, Backup, Stop’ moment. Being able to watch them for as long as they let me, is a gift I cherish each and every time I’m out. The bonus, of course, is taking photographs to share.
The animals don’t usually stick around too long; but the hawks will perch on a tree limb, a fence post, or float on the wind for ages, dipping and diving with the air current. All are perfect vantage points for them to hunt from.
Recently, a hawk watched me driving straight towards it while it sat nonchalantly in the middle of the road. It was not the first time I had come across a fledgling looking like it didn’t know what it was supposed to be doing.
I slowed to a stop, pulling off the road as far as I could. It didn’t move, other than swivelling its head to check out the lay of the land. I stayed inside my vehicle, taking pictures through the dust-covered windshield. Thinking I might get a better shot if I rolled down the window, I was quickly disappointed because the line of fire was wrong.
While I kept an eye on the fledgling, I could hear an adult hawk screeching overhead. Words of encouragement, perhaps; however, true to any youngster’s mindset, the fledgling ignored the cries.
My attention took me to a dust tail behind a truck approaching, not slowing. I hoped they would either see the bird or the bird would take to its wings to get the heck out of the way of a certain death.
One last swivel of the head, a hop, and a valiant attempt to lift off. One wing dipped back down to the ground and it settled back on the ground. Another hop, a little higher this time, both wings flapped in unison, taking the young hawk on a low passage over the ditch and over the barbed wire fence. It wobbled again, clipped a willow bush, and disappeared. Did it take flight to continue sailing over the valley? Did it make a crash landing behind the stand of wolf willows? I cannot answer either of those questions with certainty.
When the dust settled from the oncoming vehicle, and my attention strayed from the fledgling, I opened the sunroof to video the adult screeching, swooping and soaring in the blue sky above me.
All in all, another great day of gravel travel.
The animals don’t usually stick around too long; but the hawks will perch on a tree limb, a fence post, or float on the wind for ages, dipping and diving with the air current. All are perfect vantage points for them to hunt from.
Recently, a hawk watched me driving straight towards it while it sat nonchalantly in the middle of the road. It was not the first time I had come across a fledgling looking like it didn’t know what it was supposed to be doing.
I slowed to a stop, pulling off the road as far as I could. It didn’t move, other than swivelling its head to check out the lay of the land. I stayed inside my vehicle, taking pictures through the dust-covered windshield. Thinking I might get a better shot if I rolled down the window, I was quickly disappointed because the line of fire was wrong.
While I kept an eye on the fledgling, I could hear an adult hawk screeching overhead. Words of encouragement, perhaps; however, true to any youngster’s mindset, the fledgling ignored the cries.
My attention took me to a dust tail behind a truck approaching, not slowing. I hoped they would either see the bird or the bird would take to its wings to get the heck out of the way of a certain death.
One last swivel of the head, a hop, and a valiant attempt to lift off. One wing dipped back down to the ground and it settled back on the ground. Another hop, a little higher this time, both wings flapped in unison, taking the young hawk on a low passage over the ditch and over the barbed wire fence. It wobbled again, clipped a willow bush, and disappeared. Did it take flight to continue sailing over the valley? Did it make a crash landing behind the stand of wolf willows? I cannot answer either of those questions with certainty.
When the dust settled from the oncoming vehicle, and my attention strayed from the fledgling, I opened the sunroof to video the adult screeching, swooping and soaring in the blue sky above me.
All in all, another great day of gravel travel.
August 1, 2023, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about something or someone immature. Is it a wine not yet ready to uncork or an adult not ready to adult? You can follow the flight of immature fledglings or come up with something unexpected. Go where the prompt leads!
| Ann Edall-Robson Author, Photographer, Lover of Life "Capturing moments others may never get to experience.” |
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