`Io, Hawaiian Hawk
copyright 1988, D. Leilehua Yuen

 

The `io have been playing in the blustery winds, flapping heavily up, into the gusts. Facing into the wind, they flap slowly, holding position like surfers. When a strong gust comes by, they wheel and dive into it, riding it at speeds beyond that of mortal bird. You can hear the jubilation in their cries as they peel off at the end of the ride. It begins in the updraft over Pu`u Hala`i and, in a heartwrenching juxtaposition, ends over the county jail where they circle the perimeter, spiraling upward. I suspect there are thermals rising from the asphalt which surrounds the facility. 

Sometimes the current takes them to the other side of the African tulip tree, so I cannot see the birds themselves. Instead, their shadows rush through the branches, raking across the leaves, spirits of birds hurtling through matter, flying on the winds of time itself.

The raucous jeering of the nestlings brings both the hawks and myself back to the present.

The male makes a final banking turn, swoops down in a soft curve and disappears between the arms of the home tree. The female spirals up and resumes her quest for doves. I finally remember to exhale. My coffee is now cold. I finish scattering the chicken feed I have been holding in my right hand.