Hawks a-swooping

Phoenix is deeply enamored with trees (said the woman who named him after a bird, sheepishly) (not that I named him sheepishly, no, that was with confidence. Just that I am noticing his avian tendencies rather sheepishly!). He will lie on a blanket in the back yard for a very long time, delightedly cooing and kicking. We call it “watching the leaves dance.” He gets all of his appendages a-going, just a-thrashing away, and is so a-thrilled when the wind a-blows and all of the branches a-wave. Haha. That was a-irresistible.

I discovered today that it works from inside too. He was discontent, and it was raining out. So I put him on a blanket by the back door, which is glass, so he could see the tree right outside the door. Magic in the forest – it worked! He saw those branches, with the rain all drip-dripping through them, and the leaves all jiggly with the breeze, and he became content.

But yesterday when we were out back, Phoenix wriggling in delight, me reading alongside him in delight, a hawk flew into the yard again. It was smaller than the one that visited earlier in the spring (pictured in my blog headline, and responsible for the confirmation of Phoenix’s name), but still very cool. It landed briefly in the tree near me, then swooped down into the neighbor’s yard. I soon heard small squeaks and assumed it caught whatever it was after. I couldn’t stand up to look over the fence though, because I was all of a sudden struck by the notion that it might swoop in and take Phoenix!

And that notion snowballed until I was decidedly & weirdly superstitious about leaving his side at all. Like the tales of fairies returning for changeling infants, my mind raced with the idea that my boy might return to his home in the sky… I mean, really. He does a great hawk cry – truly authentic. He would be an asset to any raptor family.
I know. I clearly spend too much time in the company of kids, fairy-tales, my lonesome, and reading sci-fi/fantasy. Part-bird, part-boy! Maybe he has owl blood, which could explain his nocturnal tendencies. Well, no, he doesn't exactly hoot. He only screeches. I'll have to think about this some more.