A Poem by David Lymanstall

The Hawk

A frozen muddy path
In an early winter woods,
Covered with the lace of scarce snow
Lead me to the hawk

Or maybe he was lead to me,
As the branch was empty
When I heard the whisper of air
Pushed out of place

By gray feathers
Guiding a large avian body
To a branch only feet away
From me and the muddy, well-traveled trail.

I waited trance-like, silently thinking
Any movement would alarm him,
Set off the flapping giant wings
That would carry him to a more secluded place, far from me.

But he didn't move from his low slung branch,
Nor did I move from the frozen muddy path,
We both stood firm, wondering who
Would take flight first.

I don't know what thoughts he had as he gazed at me
And as I stared back at the solitary bird,
A bird that doesn't move with a boisterous flock,
He probably wondered the same of me on that secluded trail.

I had the notion that the hawk enjoys the sound of his own wings
In the cold winter air, just as I enjoy the sound
Of my solitary steps on a frozen muddy path.
The hawk had found a soul mate in the winter woods.

David Lymanstall is a teacher, artist and musician.  He has taught in classrooms ranging from Montessori Middle School to the college classroom.  He enjoys learning himself and likes to ignite that love of learning in others of any age.  In his spare time he teaches illustrated journal workshops, plays the fiddle in an Irish session group and enjoys writing science and nature related poetry that hopefully inspires others to look at the world around them a little closer.