This morning I was walking down a street in Berkeley. I had just found a broken parking meter, the sun was shining, life was good. Up ahead I saw a woman pushing a cart of recycleables. She checked a bin in front of an apartment building and then shuffled on to the next. Suddenly, she stopped and stared up at the sky. I crossed the street and headed past her on the other side. Still, I could hear her talking to herself or possibly to someone else, possibly to me.

I glanced over. She was still staring at the sky. I looked up. On the telephone wire, directly above me, was an absolutely beautiful hawk. "Do you think he's a red tail?" she called over.

I looked and saw no red tail. "I don't know," I said, enthusiasm creeping into my voice.

"He's here because of the field," she called back. I had just been admiring the well groomed rows, some horticultural wing of UC, no doubt. "Little mousies." Just then the hawk lifted off and flew to the top of a greenhouse. Something dazzling about his simple leap.

As I turned to head up the street, I heard the anonymous woman pushing a recycling cart say, "Thank you, Mr. Hawk."

Posted by Evan Nichols on 1/19/08; 11:45:22 PM from the The Writer's Notebook dept.