This is addressed to those with metaphysical leanings. Lovers of metaphor. Believers in esoteric messages. Unravelers of dreams. Symbolism seekers.

What does this mean: I have watched the hawks by the roadsides for years. In the first miles of a long long trip, I am staring out the front window at the highway. Suddenly, a hawk appears from the left and then swoops up again just before crashing into the front windshield. All in seconds. We wonder, we marvel. I've never been so close. (Notice the deviation from the usual crow messages—in which I am also not expert.)

We continue. On three, (3), (iii) more occasions in the next few days hawks flying unusually low swoop at us and then fly off to our right!

What is the meaning of this? Scientific explanations (it was the wind, a smaller bird flew in front of you, there was road kill nearby, etc.) need not apply.

I'm seeking the romance of the meaning of life here. The Message herein. My unrealized connection to nature speaking. Or at least trying to get my attention. Perhaps a relative of the animal tarot cards holds a clue. Something Native American. Or most assuredly, the intuitive response of any of my dear friends and family.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 14
I want to share what my sister Jeanie just sent me in response to the above:

Now, about hawks. One time when Alan and I took his Mom to Oklahoma City [from Fayetteville, AR] to see her sister, I loved seeing the hawks. I think it was November or later. There's one, on the fence post. Sitting. There's one, high in that tree. Sitting. Look, another, and another. Sitting. And what do I do? I count them. A running tally all the way to Oklahoma City (and probably all the way home). I don't really remember, but I feel there were easily 30-50 hawks on that winter trip. And I loved seeing them. On other trips, I have tried very hard (and succeeded) in eliminating the obsession of counting (Dad and I once counted 1,967 pecans we picked at Uncle Clyde's office. I think the year was 1966--we picked the year in pecans + 1).

So I see 50 hawks, sitting. And you see three swooping right in front of you. Death wish? So focused on prey they forgot to see the forest? They wanted to land on top and hitch a ride but missed? I have to say my brain enjoys metaphor but rarely thinks of one. That was always a difficult concept for me in English classes. Too literal a mind, I think. So of the "thinking" responses, I would probably go with the chasing a bird theory.

But thinking about getting to see them fly and being close, I am a bit envious. I really believe all mine were sitting. I love seeing them just like that, next to something where one can see their large size. So I want to say what a treat to see them flying, moving, carrying on. Three in a day seems unusual. That makes me think about how events often happen in threes. So I don't know what it means, but I'm glad you got to see them, and glad they did not run into the windshield. How far could you follow them off to the right?

I had to reply to Jeanie that these sightings were so fast that I didn't have time to focus. We just flashed each other. And I don't think there were three in one day; maybe two.

I was especially thrilled about the counting. Lovable heroic feats—like working gargantuan puzzles, counting pecans or hawks, or deer by the road in Pennsylvania, or plucking single cat hairs off a dark carpet. Awe-inspiring, somehow, while safely avoiding the realm of Guinness. It makes me think of us as kids, walking up the Washington Monument in DC. 700-plus steps. I think the counting was what sustained us to the top. Even today, I'll bet Ann, Jeanie or Frank remembers the exact number.