BOOM!!

The noise was HUGE and beyond startling. The sound explosion propelled me out of my seat.

It was midday, I was writing on my laptop, and I couldn’t imagine what could create such a frightful noise. It sounded like it came from the front hall – maybe by the front door? Perhaps it was – OMG – the furnace?

Fearfully, I raced to the utility room. Nothing. Everything normal. Then back through the kitchen and dining room to the front hall. I opened the door, looked around the stoop, down the steps, and in front of the rhododendrons. Nothing.

I thought, OK, if the house utilities are still all systems go, I’m heading back to my computer. But what could produce that noise? SOMETHING had happened.

That afternoon, I ran some errands downtown. Back home, I walked from the car to the house, stopping at the bottom step to deadhead some geraniums. As I bent down, I noticed the amounts of new-fallen leaves covering the bushes by the stairs. And there, lying among the leaves, was the biggest dead bird I’d ever seen.

The distance between the storm door and where the bird lay was about 7 feet. The force of hitting the door had knocked him back that far in the air, ricocheting to the edge of the hedge.

I was more upset than startled. I realized that this hawk was the big BOOM. And then, as I studied this beautiful, unmoving creature – overwhelming sadness. I had to learn more about him, (or her?) and how this might have happened.

I ran my fingers across his body and over his wing feathers. There wasn’t any bodily warmth. A few ants were crawling around his eyes. I thought of just leaving him to Dear Richard for disposal. But the bird’s presence compelled me.

I picked him up, almost reverently. He filled both hands, weighing about three pounds or maybe a little more. I almost took him to the kitchen scale, but the ants were multiplying. As I lifted him, his head flopped and hung from his body. No question that he had broken his neck.

I sat down on the step and held him, absorbing his beauty. What a work of art he was, every shade of brown and umber, his head darkly striped on a toast-colored crown. His curved beak was small, not looking too threatening. Then I saw his talons. I would never want to be on the business end of those hooks. Yikes. The rest of his body was a wondrous arrangement of painterly dabs, dots and stripes. I began to understand why artists recreate the beauty of birds – there is so much to work with. I was fighting tears at the thought of his abrupt end. From magnificence … to nothing.

When I spread out one wing, about 18 inches to the tip, I thought about his soaring size: 18 inches plus 18 inches plus the width of his body. Now when I spot hawks floating or hovering, I know I am looking at a bird more than three feet wide. No wonder they attract my attention so easily.

I reluctantly laid him back onto his bed of leaves for Dear Richard to deal with after work, and headed inside for my bird book. As I opened the storm door, I knew instantly what had happened, what caused the BOOM.

Finian, our Maine Coon, like all cats, loves to lie in the sun. Whenever the sun is bright on the south side of our house, I open the front door wide, lighting up the hallway and call, “Finian, sunshine.” I usually call only once for him to appear from anywhere in the house. He sits on the entry rug, taking in the view (chipmunks, anyone?) or flops to sunbathe.

Our storm door, framed in red to match the front door, is uninterrupted glass. I think the hawk spotted Finian and never noticed the glass wall between them.

The bird book confirmed he was a red-tailed hawk, common in these parts. It described his colors and habits. Both the book and the internet confirmed his diving speed: a minimum of 120 miles an hour! When I knew how he broke his neck, I was stunned the glass was intact. No creature could survive that.

Totally captivated, I returned outside. Eventually, I pulled the hawk’s tail feathers. I felt uncomfortably guilty, but he was so beautiful and his demise so heart-wrenching that I needed a memento. I regret not taking his picture. The thought hadn’t occurred to me, and Richard had him wrapped and into the trash bin before I realized I had missed my opportunity.

Mother nature gave me an anything-but-normal Monday. I’m grateful for the gift, up close and personal. Despite its solemn moments, the BOOM-day will resonate whenever I spy a soaring hawk above me. I hope it’s soon.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com