A long time ago I wrote a poem titled Urban Beauty. I never submitted or published it but knowing me, I may not be able to find it. I have so much written down that I lose track. It’s probably about 3 laptops ago and may be in a journal in a bin in a closet with other memories and half-crusted mothballs.
I like to find the uncommon in the common. The beauty in the ugly. The unexpected in the expected. The deep within the simple. Maybe it’s the English major in me, maybe just my ruminating creative thoughts. Maybe now that my son is a teenager, I have too much time on my hands.
I should find this Urban Beauty piece or just write another one. Perhaps with pictures of the city and the much I have captured over the years.
Trash has stories. A lone shoe definitely has a story. Scraps of paper and a random object have it too. It’s everywhere if we stop and look. And if we stop and look in a city, we will see moments of beauty and nature, as well.
Like this Sunday morning.
I came downstairs to feed the cat and get a coffee to find a hawk bathing in our community fountain. I ran upstairs to get my camera. He’s must have seen us but we may as well been a butterfly. No look, no care, no rush. Ironically, no other bird in the garden.
*He looked at me a few times and kept washing, Then dried at leisure. Pigeons and crows came back then scattered. Other birds in the trees sent out signals that the ‘King Bird of the City’ was here. My cat was curious for 10 seconds, then fled inside. She knew. This creature can pick up to 60 lbs. with its talons and she’s not risking her cozy urban life.
I opened the door to take pictures. Still there. Went to get my first cup of coffee, still there washing, then drying.
I sat down with my coffee to enjoy watching and observing.
— I had a teacher once tell me that people rush, they leave a moment too soon. They do that in life. They do it at the zoo. If you pause just a ‘little bit longer’, you will start to see things —
I drink my coffee and watch. He moves and stands proudly on a railing. He’s still drying. He stares at me and spins his head looking around the area. I fantasize that maybe he’ll start coming back routinely. Fine with me as long as he doesn’t swoop up our cat for a meal. He shakes his feathers one more time.
He flies off and leaves the garden with a long parting screech. The only noise of the morning. He soars high above all other buildings and birds. I hope he comes back.
He adds to my urban beauty.
~Christine
*based on the picture and type of hawk, I believe it was a juvenile white-haired male hawk
Fashion Stories & Dirty Laundry 