You say goodbye, I say hello

The hawks are gone - left the nest, on to better hunting grounds, new tree-top vistas.

But I'm still here.

The forest is hawk-quiet, their calls silent at least for me to hear. I hear the crows now and know for sure that the hawks are gone. The season of the hawk has passed. There is a sense of loss - a hawk shaped hole left behind.

I think about other losses - seasons that have passed leaving holes in my heart:

cherished grandparent shaped holes
grown children shaped holes
beloved pet shaped holes
past hopes and dreams shaped holes

As I stare out at the trees thinking about the summer of the hawks I see a flash of yellow at a bird feeder that we placed three or four months ago, hoping to attract yellow finches. All spring and summer the bird feeder has remained unvisited. I've thought that maybe it's the wrong kind of feeder, the wrong kind of food? The feeder has hung, waiting, waiting, waiting for the right season. Another flash - black capped chickadees, my little favorites from the trail where I run. They're here at my feeder. Another flash of yellow - a yellow finch! Just a flash, then gone.

Now I think - are they finally here because the hawks have gone? Did the one have to happen before the other? Do we need to say goodbye sometimes before we can say hello?

I think about old habits, patterns of behavior that no longer serve me - how I hang on to them thinking that I will change when something better comes along, yet hanging on to the old wondering, fearing that there is nothing better. Maybe I need to let go first to make room for what is better.

As I watch the little black-capped chickadees and wait for another elusive flash of yellow, I hear a hawk call in the far distance, and I smile.

P.S. Here is another magnificent moth that visited our haven home: