Before the Storm, the Hawks
For Mike James
It’s so hard to say good-bye
To a friend about to die.
The hawks soared this afternoon
At least a dozen,
Crossing the winter sky
From Baker’s Mountain,
Dipping over
The Hmong compound next door.
One circled our house,
Looped back over the rooftop,
Glided ten feet above where Penny and I stood.
Then sailed by itself
Beyond the bare maples,
The angle iron of its wings
Vanishing
Into the gray mountain.
About the Author: Tim Peeler is a retired educator from Western North Carolina. Most recently he has collaborated with Appalachian photographer Clayton Joe Young on books that combine narrative verse with rural images.
Image Credit: Tom Thomson “Black Spruce and Maple ” (1915) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 