When Cas loses his wings, he goes for a walk every single day. Weather changes; he wears flip-flops and sneakers and boots and flip-flops again, and while the walking doesn’t bring them back, it helps. He does yoga. He spars.
Until one day, while he’s walking and autumn leaves crunch under his feet, a hawk comes to perch on his shoulder. She comes to see him the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Every time Cas leaves the Bunker, she joins him earlier in his walk, until the minute Castiel sets foot outside, the hawk flutters around him and lands on his shoulder or his arm. He makes a leather glove and shoulder strap for her, and names her Vpaahi.
I’ve been wanting to get photos of the hawks that perch on the power lines on my way to work but until recently haven’t had a decent lens to do so. This time on my way home from work I was able to park close enough to one but not spook it. Unfortunately I learned that 1/250s is just too slow. Next time. Next time.
“Lysandra had entered and passed out in her bed with no explanation for why or what she had been doing beforehand. And since she was utterly unconscious, Aelin had just climbed into bed beside her. She had no idea where Rowan had curled up for the night, but she wouldn’t have been surprised to look outside her window and spy a white-tailed hawk perched on the balcony rail.“
Rowan laid on his back in his bed. His eyes were closed, but he could not sleep.
It had been almost impossible for him to sleep in a bed since Aelin was taken. He’d taken instead to remaining in hawk form and perching on one of the masts outside, letting the sea winds soothe him to sleep as it rustled his feathers.
One day while cleaning up the yard because hawks are perching on the mind on the third one to the land, that you will see Hooded Figures in the first Wyandottes, I have remorse for everything that is me!
The goddess of the arm where hawks perch,
woman, must suffer my rudeness;
when young I would easily dare
to lift the sheer cliffs of my brow.
Now I must conceal in my cloak
the outcrop between my brows
when she enters the poet’s mind,
head-dress of the rock-giant’s earth.
I seldom hide the name
of my female relative
in the drink of the giant’s kin;
sorrow wanes in sea-fire’s fortress.
Some who stir the din
of valkyries’ armor
have poetic fingers that feel
the essence of the war-god’s wine.
where some men make to woo, Egil sits in a corner and sulks and writes poetry
Also, Hamlet would have a fit. Asgerd is Egil’s brother’s widow.
….a colorful species of jacamar (Galbulidae) which is known to occur in Bolivia, Brazial and Peru. Bluish-fronted jacamars typically occur in subtropical or tropical moist lowland forests, and like other members of the family Galbulidae are insectivores. Hawking from a perch and catching insects in flight with its long-thin bill.