Hawk watching

His screech sends me scurrying
for my camera.
I don't know if they're a pair
but he means them to be,
swooping after her as she dives
and glides to bare oaks by the river.
The whole of this sunny Sunday
two red-tailed hawks
claim our trees as their wild terrain,
coming and going in an ardent whirl.
The day is warm,
lifting winter's flannel
with a hint of spring.
Off they go again, pursuing.
Wingless, I'm left to hold
the journey's joy.