Walking the dogs this morning and a hawk breezed over my head. Of course there was no possible way I was going to catch a picture of it in flight. Between juggling two dogs’ leashes and the two dogs tugging in different directions, I can barely manage a still picture. But it was kind enough to sit for a moment on a roof — just long enough for me to snap this picture — before zooming away again. You probably can’t even really see it — it’s the speck on the top of the roof.

This afternoon, though, I was on my home from the grocery store when I saw it again.* I took a quick picture, thinking it would move, then started walking toward it. Took another, and another, and another, and… you get the idea. This is the very last. I stood under its light-pole and it twisted its head what seemed like a full 180 degrees to stare down at me, then decided that I meant nothing and went back to relaxing.

Hawks in flight are elegant, but this one, sitting still, looks plump and satisfied, like a country squire character in a Jane Austen novel.

*I say “it” as if there’s only one — I’d like to believe that it’s Joan the Hawk, the bird that R sees when he’s at school, just because I like the name they’ve given that hawk so much, but R says no, too small. Still, he thinks the neighborhood probably only has one hawk. It needs a name!