Morning Magic

I woke up early this morning and as I stumbled through the living room on my way to the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine, I glanced out the window at the garden. The morning glories on the arbor took my breath away. Heavenly Blue -- they couldn't have a better name. The morning mist made the garden seem like Shangri-La, with the frothy clouds of white roses on the fence and the muted shades of the hydrangeas that transform the bushes into giant dried flower arrangments at this time of year.

And then, out of nowhere, a red-tailed hawk flew in and landed on the arbor. I stood and watched him surveying my garden. I wondered what he was seeing. I thought about the chipmunks that devour my lilies and the bunnies that got to eat as much of my lettuce this season as I did. I figured the hawk was about to have breakfast.

But then he turned around and faced my living room window. He smoothed his feathers and settled into the billows of blue morning glories. "Stay there," I whispered. "Don't move."

I ran for my camera. The orange light was flashing -- the battery was low.

I'll take a picture anyway, I thought. But the scene was too far away for my zoom. And the window was so dirty. Why hadn't I noticed? Why hadn't I charged the camera battery yesterday like I said I was going to.

"Don't fly away." Why was I whispering?

I'll go outside and inch close enough to shot the picture. Maybe I'll be lucky and the hawk will stay for its close up. Maybe I'll be lucky and there will be enough juice in the battery for just one picture.

I tiptoed to the door and turned the latch. "Shhh," I said. But the door sounded like thunder when I unlocked it. The hawk flew away.

I went back inside and plugged the battery into its recharger. I made a cup of coffee and drank it while looking out the window. "Come back," I whispered.

I wrote a note to call the window-washer.