The Hawk by William Butler Yeats
'Call down the hawk from the air;
Let him be hooded or caged
Till the yellow eye has grown mild,
For larder and spit are bare,
The old cook enraged,
The scullion gone wild.'
'I will not be clapped in a hood,
Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,
Now I have learnt to be proud
Hovering over the wood
In the broken mist
Or tumbling cloud.'
'What tumbling cloud did you cleave,
Yellow-eyed hawk of the mind,
Last evening? that I, who had sat
Dumbfounded before a knave,
Should give to my friend
A pretence of wit.'
I was walking on La Chua Trail today; there was not a lot about except mist, and ardent twitchers, all staring into the impenetrable white blanket, waiting for the unexpected to fly out. I walked on, and looking up, I saw a man coming out of the mist with the unexpected on his arm; a juvenile female osprey! He works with a wildlife rescue vet and has been caring for her for several weeks. She has a fungal infection of the lungs, ( aspergillus), normally this is a death sentence, but she is being treated with anti-fungals and a great deal of care, in the hope that she may recover and be able to soar again on the wind and catch her own breakfast. In the meantime this wonderful guy Richard cares for her in his house, and takes her for walks on the Prairie.
- Nikon D80