The Hawk

I was touched by Rose's story of The Sparrow. It serves as a reminder as to how precious and fragile life is. The beating of our own hearts is a surety that we, many a time, take for granted. Realising that life is fleeting is a necessary step we must take if we are to live to its fullness.

Death is indeed the greatest tragedy; though it is also the greatest inevitability.

The Sparrow reminded me of something I witnessed a week ago but neglected to write about for it slipped my mind.

I'd just finished some shopping in West Philadelphia and I was seated on a park bench on the edge of campus having lunch whilst watching the human traffic pass by. A number of people, I noticed, were taking pictures of something behind me with their camera phones - so I went to investigate when I'd finished having lunch.

Not ten metres from where I sat was a sight not seen in the urban jungle. There it was, a formidable looking hawk, eyes ever vigilant, standing proudly amongst a flurry of feathers. At its feet, the dishevelled cadaver of it's prey - a pigeon.

They are axes of natural order, mortality and predation. Though it is true that both the hawk and the pigeon are mortal creatures that cannot subvert the inevitability of death, there is something to be said of their relation to personification of the creatures.

The 'feral' rock pigeon, Columba livia, is gluttonous, mindlessly flys with the flock, is seen as vermin and often preyed upon.

The hawk, Accipiter gentilis, is a powerful, intelligent and elegant hunter that flies alone and can seize prey many times its size.

A cold and clinical dichotomy this makes for, but there is a kernel of truth in the world being constituent of pigeons and hawks. Which of these we are is often characterised by our interactions with others. The pigeon is exploited obliviously whilst the hawk's instinct is to hunt: and capture it often does.



Xavier