Home Again

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Four days gone. 

That's not unusual. She disappears for days, weeks, months at a time. 

Her appearances are more frequent in winter, of course. And then, too, at times like last week, when she's working — then I expected her to return, and she did. Otherwise, I expect to see her only when I see her.

There are two, actually, a mated pair, but the female is the larger of the two. Their home is here, where they know they're welcome — except, of course, on those occasions when they venture too near the ravens' nest. The giant corvids harry them until they retreat to a safe distance, never farther than across the road. When they're here, though, we waste no worry on the chickens. The red-tails seem to have a clear grasp of what constitutes acceptable prey in this place.

But I haven't seen her for four days, and had no expectation of it today, either. 

Wings got up this morning, looked out the window, nodded toward the northwest, said, "There's your friend. In the tree." 

I stepped outside to look. Sure enough, she was there in the upper branches.

Holding my breath, as though that would somehow make her stay, I retrieved the camera, went back outside. Still there. Focus. Shoot. Over and over.

I could see her there, shifting on the branch, looking around. Hoping against hope that I wouldn't scare her off.

Thirteen shots. I didn't know what I had until I uploaded them. She looked right for me; then left; then swiveled her head to look squarely at me. That's a first. Oh, she's watched me directly as I work, but never any effort to make eye contact before, even through a camera lens.

The sun at perfect angles. Ochre and sepia bars on her tail, diamond patterns glowing in the morning light.

A gift, an offering seemingly of friendship.

She stayed there until I was finished. When I came indoors, I asked Wings whether she was still there. 

"No. She flew away."

The summer my father walked on, work required me to travel all over the state. It was the summer of golden eagles: the one and only time in my life that they seemingly flew with me everywhere, beginning the day after his death. Before and since, there have been other birds: my namesake, an occasional bald eagle, magpie fledglings, even tiny hummingbirds. A couple of years, a widowed Cooper's hawk mourning her mate.

The red-tails have come and gone as they will, seemingly at home here, but not particularly linked to us. They've appeared occasionally in the warmer months, swooping overhead in a lazy gyre, playing on the currents, following along as I go about my work in the apparent hope that I will acknowledge their presence. I always do.

But this is new, this visitation.

Now, it seems less like a visit, and more like an old friend, a relative, returning home. 

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.