Preying Game

The rain has finally stopped, and bright sunlight slants through massive oak trees and between buildings painted in fifties’ pastels, burning off the morning mist and incubating the heavy morning air. As traffic builds, the boys defy stop signs and red lights as they wheel through Kenwood, an older neighborhood of red brick streets lined with Craftsman-style bungalows and patchy lawns of St. Augustine grass. They charge the occasional pedestrian along the way with their bikes, screeching with laughter at the stream of complaints that follow the near-misses, then skid around the final corner and race down the sidewalk that leads to the lake.

From p. 5:

“If you watch a hawk hunting its prey,” he finally says, “if you are paying attention you will understand that the hawk is not fighting anything except the hunger he feels. It is his nature to satisfy that hunger, nothing more. He does not store his kill, nor is he greedy. He simply eats until his belly is full and leaves the rest for other spirits.”

Stevie nods his head and sees the hawk in his mind. Wings spread, rafting on warm currents of air, diving to the capture, then clutching his kill as he eats.

“When the time is right, Stevie,” the old man says, “Nature will provide the answers to your questions and opportunities to deal appropriately with your enemies.”