By Micaela Goldschmidt
Something is coming from somewhere. Not exactly a sound but a sense. There is a presence coming closer. Yet, the fish do not feel it; they swim comfortably, just below the surface of the lake. It is a red-tailed hawk, a master of the sky, a predator.
He is soaring as effortlessly as a kite on a night breeze. His eyes searching, searching for something only he knows.
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By Micaela Goldschmidt
Something is coming from somewhere. Not exactly a sound but a sense. There is a presence coming closer. Yet, the fish do not feel it; they swim comfortably, just below the surface of the lake. It is a red-tailed hawk, a master of the sky, a predator.
He is soaring as effortlessly as a kite on a night breeze. His eyes searching, searching for something only he knows. Then he sees it; a silver back brushing the surface of the lake. There is a flash of talons and the fish unknowingly gives its life to another being. The fish is not gone; it is there, held in the claws of the hawk. Only its life is gone, but then again not really. The fish has become part of another life—the life of the hawk.
The hawk rises from the water. The fish, its neck broken, is carried upward. Moonlight is dancing on the fi and the water. The others watch, with bulging eyes, as the hawk grows smaller. Then it is only a speck in the sky. Soon it is gone. But not really.
Micaela Goldschmidt, Soaring Wings of the Heart, age 14, practices with a Sangha in Portland, Oregon. She wrote this piece exploring interbeing after a 2007 Mindfulness Retreat.
