Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Hawk In the Rain

Rain
The rain is falling steadily this wet afternoon in Jacksonville Beach as I shuffle across a huge empty lot, a few acres that separate the motel where I am staying from the Winn Dixie plaza where there is hot deli food and beer and also a little rum, a little rum for a wet Sunday in a town where it seems to rain all the time. I am sniffling and making strange sounds with my throat because I have had some odd sinus infection for a month now and I am getting used to being a sap head and it rains a lot in Jacksonville, Florida.

Raptor!
A beautiful red-tail hawk of some considerable size dive bombs the retention pond as I pass by; it is a big hawk and it lights in a dead tree next to the pond and shakes the rain from its feathers and cocks its head to look me over and I pause, here in the rain, to admire this wild raptor living here in this field. There is a homeless camp nearby with a soggy sleeping bag and a cold fire pit that only seems to make things worse and I turn and shuffle away. There is rum and beer and hot deli-cooked barbecue ribs and baked beans ahead.. As I cross the field I turn and look back at the hawk and he is still there.

Peaceful Easy Feeling, Interrupted
There was time in my life when, (still living in my old house near the beach after Number Two departed the premises), when I would be awakened every morning by cooing doves, love doves, I think; they would be there in the big cedar tree that sheltered the back patio where I could also hear the sound of the waves crashing on the beach and they were a pair, always there, always there...myself, no longer a pair, was somehow comforted by the cooing of the doves and I was happy for them. I was alone, then, but at least I had the doves.

Then one day, sitting in the sunshine on my back porch, sun-stunned and beer-soaked, there was a violent fluttering overhead and one of the doves landed throat-ripped at the base of the tree. I looked up and there it was, a fierce hawk on the lowest branch (only feet away) from where I sat. The hawk was glaring at me and looking down at the dead dove and I mentally willed the murderer to swoop down to claim its prize so I could wreak hateful vengeance on this intruder, this killer...

But the hawk flew away and I went over to the dove and picked it up. I didn't know what to do. It was dead. I took it out to the wild palmetto thicket behind my property and laid it under a small palm growing there. I didn't know what to do. It seemed then that the reality of my life crashed straight into me and I was alone, now, alone like the other dove and I knew that tomorrow that other dove would be alone in the cedar tree and I was also alone, now.

Sweet Adaline
This damnable Jacksonville rain dampens the world and I am tired. We have worked twenty days in a row and I am beginning to wonder when it will end. The clerk at the liquor store looks like maybe he was once in a barber shop quartet and his jolliness fails to change my mind about the rain but I appreciate his effort. I trundle back across the wet field with my food and drink and there he is, the hawk, there he is and I am glad to see him. I don't know why.

As I step into my room I suddenly think about my brother. I was leaving a liquor store in sunny St. Petersburg one afternoon over a decade ago, smiling about some witty remark I had made to the guy behind the counter. I heard a voice say “There's my brother, smiling in the sunshine.” I have told this story before but I don't care. Every time I see a hawk I remember my brother and that moment in the sun and I don't know why. They are not connected, as far as I know; hawks, I mean, and my brother. But I had those doves once and a hawk took one of them away and made me more aware of my loss and sorrow and for some reason hawks make me think of my lost brother and this rain, this damnable rain makes me something of a brother to that hawk here today, in the rain.


I Am, After All, A Cyclist
What does any of this have to do with bicycles, with two wheels, with the long road? Well, nothing; and everything. Out there, sleek and tight-wrapped in our road clothes (our plumage of destruction) we are each (in our way) hawks. We fly swiftly and with gentle malice along our swift trails and we are raptors, of a sort; we roadies, we fast-runners...not the mountain crowd, today, I mean lean bicycles and dedicated suffering and joy on the tarmac and flying is our business and yeah, I have somehow lost my way and my road bike has been gathering dust in the corner, with a flat tire.

My brother has been gone for many years now and I never did learn why. But when I went to pick up the stuff he left behind out on the balcony of his lonely apartment there was a beat up old ten speed. It was a thing he learned from me, I remember, to always keep a ten speed handy. I never quite knew why but I always had one and so did he, my little brother.


And Finally...
This damnable rain makes for these times of sweet melancholy and I am not sorry for the dove, the lost dove nor for my lost brother; this is the way of the world and it is how it should be, I think. But I will soon enough begin to get my road bike back up strong and hawk-like and she will get gears and I will clothe myself in proper garb and I will once again take to the road, the long road of the far rides and once again pursue the answers that I seek; maybe there on the long road I can resume my search for the hawk and the dove and the answer to all of this, this rain and a hawk in the rain and the job of the long rider.

Whispering Pines Trailer Park and Weather Report
March 4, 2014

34 comments:

  1. Good post. Glad to see you again in print

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    1. Thanks. Writing is for me a kind of therapy. If it also brings enjoyment to others the therapy works that much better.

      tj

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  2. Wow! Thanks Tim Joe. A nice way to start my day.

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    1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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    2. Deleted by "author" due to mangled typing and dumb syntax, whatever that is. Not to mention dangling my participles in public. It all came down to saying thanks, Brian. Aren't you about due for a post your ownself?

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  3. We all need a hawk once in awhile.

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    1. Yes, Island Woman, we do. A little life in our lives. Your Blog rekindles my desire to build a finely-crafted small boat and sail la Caribe in search of Veritas and laughter.

      tj

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  4. Well said! So happy to find this today. I do hope the the day comes quickly that you will once again be astride your steed and exploring those long roads.

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    1. I'm working on it, Daniel. I have been following your posts without comment due to my generally sour attitude after a twelve hour work day. But I am watching.

      tj

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  5. Want to comment, not sure what to say, except that I'm happy to see you post again. :)

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    1. Thank you, miss. It is good to know that there is an audience, however minute.

      tj

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  6. I almost want to apologize for such a scaldingly personal post. But the sun does not shine everyday here on our little marble nor does it shine, always, in our souls. My method is to lance the wounds and howl unto heaven and (usually) that works. When it doesn't, I just brood and laugh and wait for grace.

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  7. I always enjoy the elegant flow of your posts. It's a treat for the senses, like a cafecito on a long, busy day.

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    1. High praise from a colleague is always welcome, Marsha. I am envious of your Miami weather as viewed from the other end of the state.

      tj

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  8. This almost slipped by me, glad I check. A personal look into your thoughts is welcome. I love the term "sweet melancholy" that you use. It describes some feelings I have had going on this winter. Four days of acceptable riding here this March has shaken that a bit for me, like so much rain on a hawks feathers. A bike ride, even if it is my little commute back and forth to work makes the sun shine a bit brighter.
    Basketball ended, suddenly, as it always does every year, with a loss. Boom, no more practice, no more mixing it up with the guys, no more staying sharp, thinking in the moment like coaching does. My job is losing the challenge, that sharp moment to moment thinking that coaching or riding a bike for that matter, requires.That is why I like cycling so much, Just the requirement to operate this two wheeled machine keeps my mind working and not wandering off too far from the task. Work is just a slog along day to day thing keeping the stock holders at bay and hitting the number, never seeming to really matter what I do....it all seems to work out. I know I worked hard at some point in the past to reach this status and I should sit back a bit and let the company cruise along and enjoy it.
    Well now, this got away from me a bit when I just wanted to say thanks for the post and your thoughts.
    Stay safe out there my friend being the worker drone.
    Jim

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    1. Thanks, Jim. It is a bit wacky that after thirty years owning and operating my own business I find myself toiling once again in the trenches; on the other hand, there is a certain rejuvenating quality to what I am doing and besides, I am gradually moving towards starting up one more time...these McD projects are projected to last until the end of 2015. I also expect a stock split (long overdue) on the McDonalds stock and I am putting aside the Comstock Farms dream (mostly imaginary) long enough to obtain a block of stock between now and fiscal 2015.

      Good Lord, listen to me...I really AM back in the world...oh well, I'm still here so i might as well work the angles while I can. I can definitely relate to your end-of-career ennui, however. When I started this Blog I thought it was all over with me and the trades, but here I am plotting and planning a second career including a miniature power-grab and a couple trucks...I already have financial backing and a small but hard-as-nails crew.

      Bicycles must be in there somewhere, but right now I am tooling up and looking to cash out hard when I turn sixty in a year and a half.

      Ha! I think maybe I out blog-jacked ya, there...

      tj

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  9. Good to see you post Sir, always enjoyable to read your words. May your tires fill with air, your chain be lightly lubed, and your steel lugged steed stand ready to answer the call of the road and swoop down country byways like a hawk on the hunt...

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    1. Hey, Bro. Too many too-long work days have caused me to be a not-so-hot webular pal. I'll see if I can fix that. meanwhile, Little Miss's rebuild will require a lot of tech advice. Do you know anyone with experience rebuilding old ten speeds?

      tj

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  10. You've caught me in a melancholy moment, and once again your words have brought on a bout of reminiscing...
    Makes me miss my brother, who lives too far away.

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    1. Jonathan! Call him. Call your brother. Better yet: send a card, or anything. Make it goofy. Make it sentimental. You decide. Even one second from now might be too late.

      tj

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    2. Already did. He's doing okay. Still miss him though...

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  11. Sometimes, TJ, I think the answer may lie in the questions themselves. Those who believe they have answers don't seem to be looking deep enough. You seem to be looking pretty deep. Thanks for that.

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    1. berry, I do suppose the kind of questions you ask reveal the trail you are on and the kind of person you are...or perhaps the kind of person you endeavor to be. I never really looked at it that way. Thanks for the insight...

      The truth seems to be that each question pursued leads to many new
      questions. It has been a long time, but I do seem to remember once seeing a dog chasing his own tail...

      Thanks for reading. tj

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  12. TJ,
    Had a hawk (not a redtail though) feasting on squirrel in our back yard yesterday. I kept scaring him off his meal as I made trips between the house, garage & car, packing up bike & gear for a ride in the slush. Just another organism looking for a meal.

    Try to keep your spirits up. Make it a thing to get that flat tire fixed - you can't have a spur-of-the-moment ride if you're sitting on flats.

    And endeavor to persevere.

    Steve Z

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    1. Perseverance is about all I have left, Steve, or at least some days that's how it feels. But you are right about that flat. Tonight I think I will order a new rear tire online and a couple tubes. My old Scoutmaster would be appalled at my lack of readiness.



      tj

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  13. TJ, what a pleasant surprise checking in and seeing an awesome new post! You have a way with words my velo brother...I myself have no excuse whatsoever for my pathetic rate of blog updates (I'm hoving around one a month, and I just don't know what happened but I can't seem to get much better than that lately).

    Can't imagine the pain of losing a brother...just last week was our mothers 80th bday. Took a few days away from the ol' salt-mine, picked up my big bro on the way to LAX, then little bro at the airport (was supposed to be LAX but changed mid-stream to Burbank). From there it was a brothers reunion road-trip to AZ...what a great time we had! You have to jump on those opportunities, as you never know when you won't get that chance again. Life changes in a blink. Live for the moment, even if it's just planning your escape from servitude on the way to becoming the master of your own ship (again). LMD will still be waiting for you when the time suddenly becomes right for you to fly again. Be safe and hang in there TJ! And thanks for the peer into your life...sharing makes things better!

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  14. Thanks so much, Matt. I think that cycling is the key to living in the moment. I think you have struck through to the heart of the matter. When on my road bike flashing along, absolutely aware of my surroundings, traffic, road conditions, cadence...that is it, I think.

    I really appreciate your support, Matt. Hope the puppies are well and yourself, too.

    tj

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  15. Such a lot of sadness, tj. I'm always amazed at the beauty you manage to create out of loss and pain. Thank you for the magic transformation. I feel humbled and honoured that you share it with us all in blogosphere.

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  16. Thank you for reading, anna. It means more than I can say.

    tj

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  17. TJ - I came by park today looking for company. I've been long away and gone but find what must be a kindred soul whenever I happen by the trailer door. I owe you one.

    I'll try to re-awaken the Home if I can find a way through the Red Cat and Honey-Brown of my days off. We'll meet on the road one way or another.

    Speed and litter bro -

    Wayward

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  18. Holy crap I thought you were dead! Your eloquence escapes me but anything I can do, Harold, let me know! As long as it doesn't require money or heavy lifting, I mean.

    What a winter of discontent. Steady on, bro, coffee and donuts, words!

    tj

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  19. Just write good sir...just write.

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