I was home the other day when I looked outside and saw the wings of a hawk filling the window frame. It was much lower than they usually are and it made my blood run a little cold. There's something about them. They move like they owned the skies. Which they sort of do I guess. Later on by the river the sky was Hitchcock-grey and ominous. Way high above I saw a black dot circling. Slowly. Then another. Then a few more. There must have been about 10 of them tracing slow circular patterns against the rain-filled clouds. It was an awesome and chilling site. The fact that they can see anything from way up there is like a superpower. Those wings up close look impossibly huge and darkly elegant. It holds them aloft effortlessly as they seem to glide for ages as the gulls and sparrows and swallows flap their wings furiously at lower altitudes. They have a kind of swagger I respect. But their dark side - those predatory instincts - cast a long shadow.