Red Tails At End of Day

Just off the busy road there’s a dirt lane that leads to a weather-worn covered bridge where Red Tails gather at eventide. In the sunlight the birds flicker on hot winds, rest and watch on pylons and poles, then rise to hover over berms and hedgerows along the highway driving small birds and field mice into the shelter of scrub and thicket. At days end they convene; shake corn-dust from their wings, bathe in the creek's shallow waters, then the hawks perch along the eaves of the bridge while its oak rafters retreat to shade. I arrive as the late evening paints one last aureate sheen over the slow rippling stream. Hawks hunt alone - an acreage of sky can support but one raptor. I have photographed them many times as they swooped and spiraled scything the sky with their swift-winged threats. In this light a different picture emerges; the row of muted birds could be sleeping yet their eyes are wide open, alert. A last twilight gleaming briefly reveals their sentinel forms, now in the gloom, only their eyes can be seen - each one a blood-red sunset.