Where have you been? Where are you going? And why?
I am a falcon. I soar high above the orange and red Tennessee hills. I extend my arms and glide. I hear the quiet of the wind as it whispers over my wings. The altitude chills my tongue as I unlock my beak to announce my existence to no one. I enjoy companionship but just as much need this expanse. As I glide, I wait, patient, giving my eyes time to work. I see two-and-a-half times better than humans, and if you want to know me, you must start with my vision.
“Endangered” used to describe me, and now, even in cities, few spot me. I can survive in the clefts of a building downtown where the smog hovers or in the open wilderness where dinner scampers. People tend to celebrate the flamboyance of an eagle and miss me in the process. The wiser creatures fear me, know the sting of my power. I swoop from a mile away. Once my eyes work, my talons pierce. I hunt covertly, observe intensely, and frolic where the wind takes me. I am a falcon.