As I sat in front of my laptop staring at the blank page before me, the words I had stored up inside of me, the stories, the poetry, the pain, fled. It fled from me as though it had never been. I sighed, glancing out the window to my left. It was a grey, rainy, cold day. The skeletal fingers of the trees in my backyard swaying in the winds as I contemplated the world and myself in general.

A movement in the upper edge of the window caught my eye, I spied a Hawk, perched in the upper echelons of the neighbors tree. It flapped its wings as the wind pummeled it, turning itself around on the whisper thin branch that, to me at least, didn’t look like it could hold a canary, much less a full grown hawk.

I watched the tree sway to and fro, and I wondered what the hawk was thinking, what it was like to fly in the face of the rain and the wind, to soar through the world able to see the smallest of things in minute detail, I got a bit lost in my whimsy, soaring through the sky the wind under my feathers, hunting for the small life I would take to sustain mine.

I blinked, snapping back to reality and realized the hawk had gone. Off to do whatever particular need that had driven it to this place, so far from the forest it should call home. I turned back to my laptop with a new vigor, surely the words would come now. A winged shadow flashed by the window just at the edge of my vision, I turned again, had it been the hawk?

I crept onto my bed as quietly as possible, sliding the window open. I looked around, peeking my head out as furtively as I could, no hawk anywhere in sight. I sighed, my small adventure bearing no fruit, I looked down as I began to withdraw back inside and froze. There on the ground directly where the shadow had passed lay a single, bloody, human eye.