this sweet soul shows up once a day. Generally around 5pm.
I like to think he comes a little bit closer each time, but really, he isn't sure what to think of me yet. I don't blame the poor lad. I found myself today calling, "Here kittykittykitty!" at his appearance. I blame excitement, he calls it ‘confusion.’ I call him Hank.
Hank, like me, loves to watch the hawks circle above us. On these sunny days I find myself out in the garden, sprawled out while I watch their flight. I like to catch glimpses of their spotted underbellies when the sun reflects just so. Their constant circling while they weave together their calls is breath taking. Hank, however, is just crapping himself. These hawks have declared war on the rodents and occasional cats in the neighborhood- so Hank is a survival bird watcher. It doesn't matter to me. A bird watcher is a bird watcher. We both lay out in the field watching their wings reflect shadows on the field. Sometimes I point out the occasional crow to Hank, “you don’t need to cower for that one.” I like to think he relaxes a bit.
these moments with Hank are bittersweet.
Mr. Husband accepted a job in Seattle this week with the railroad. It was a blessing and surprise. I come from a family of railroad men, and it's interesting to watch my husband step into that role. We relocate to Seattle this fall. I don't enjoy the city we're currently in, Vancouver is a crowded buffet of superficial nothing. I grew up in that hot mess. I'm ready to find something new. The only things I enjoy about Vancouver are the volcano views and this home. Growing up next to Portland does away with it's appeal and 'coolness.' We always knew our time here would pass. But this slice of earth that we were beyond lucky to find- let alone afford during the college years- is going to be hard to walk away from.
Hard to walk away from Hank. The hawks. The coyotes and occasional fox. The frogs that make our home vibrate during the spring evenings. Our meadow. Our stream. And the wild flowers that grow above our heads.
For now I’m content to sit with Hank…with more than fifteen feet between us, mind you- heads turned up watching the large loops the hawks continue to make. These summer evenings are just enough to help me slow down and be here. Present and witnessing the gorgeousness around.
“Hank,” I told him today while I pointed up towards the heavens, “That hawk there is a red tail. Do you know the difference?”
He blinks and continues to wonder why I think he is a cat.
I don't blame him. His new nick name is 'Kit-kit.' He endures it.
Oh Hank, never change. I love you so. Will you write me when I leave this place?
