This morning I dropped someone off at the airport. Yes, I'm one of those people that can be called upon to bring you to and take you back from an airport. I really don't mind, as long as I don't feel taken advantage of. I like to drive, especially surface roads. But this blog entry is not supposed to be about me.

On the drive away from the airport I saw a large, dark figure on the side of the road, (remember this was very early in the morning.) Because of the way it was moving- leaning down close to the road's surface, hovering over something below it there, I was unable at first to figure out what it was. Since I was coming from a stop light I was afforded the luxury of not accelerating too fast so I could let my early morning brain work out what it was I was looking at.

In short order, surprisingly for how many synapses I had command of at the time, I had worked out it was some sort of large bird. My first thought was a crow/raven, since our area has a disproportionate amount of the coal black crow/raven's flying about, it was a pretty safe guess. But as I looked closer it was too big and not black enough to be one of those. I barely was moving faster than a crawl as I approached it when it stood up from its stooping and gave me a good look at its profile. It was a very large hawk.

My anthropomorphic tendencies convinced me that it saw me looking at it and deigned to allow me a full glimpse of its grandeur. It was an impressive bird. It stood there, astride the unfortunate road kill breakfast meal beneath its talons and watched as I passed. I was certainly no threat to such as he, regardless of whether I controlled a massive mechanical beast or not. This was his domain. And he seemed to know it.

As I drove off, faster now that I could not see his majesty in my mirrors, I imagined that he continued on with his interrupted morning meal. He was in no hurry. Nothing could disturb his state of being without his consent. For a short time I wondered how the hawk fared when confronting the massive airplanes that roared to life every few moments mere yards behind him. It was a fleeting thought, though. The hawk is the true master of the sky. The lumbering, un-flapping contraptions are too loud and awkward to ever disturb such as he. He merely flies away from their far too predictable paths and laughs a hawkish laugh under his breath as they pass.

That morning, for those few moments, there was a true master flier at that airport. And I am glad I was awake enough to see him.

That's why I don't mind driving people to the airport.

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