Fight or Flight

After several hours of Googling coding freebies then typing then re-coding the re-re-coding and banging my head on the keyboard, the latter often resulting in better work than when using these mitts of concrete at the end of my arms, I stood up and sighed.

Walk it off, clear your head, I yelled at myself internally because doing so aloud when you work by yourself is just loony.

I pushed back my chair and stood with a creak-creak here and a Mother-Fletcher-I’m-old there.

I looked out the sliding glass door, lost.

That’s when I saw him.

Beyond the pergola beams, up in the branches.

A red-tailed hawk.

We have two of them that frequently circle our neighborhood. Beautiful, ancient predators that always make me gaze in awe at their grace and skill.

They perch and observe, constantly planning and calculating as they scour the yards and roadways for the weak, the slow, the indecisive.

Then they swoop in and kill. No mercy.

He swiveled his noble head and stared.

Right. At. Me.

And here we are.

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