Bryant Park Hawk

 

    Connecting to the internet in a wireless world means that your office, no longer confined to a soulless cubicle, can be anywhere.  

    One lovely summer afternoon, rather than work in my office I head to New York City’s Bryant Park, my favorite virtual office. First, I walk purposefully over to 46th Street and 6th Avenue, where I purchase two chicken kennai kati rolls from the Vendy-Award winning Biryani Cart, instantly salivating while anticipating some of my favorite food in all of NYC. Arriving at Bryant Park I find a nice table and sit down, appreciating the warmth of the sun, the cooling gentle breeze, and basking in the feeling of all that vitamin D pouring into me. 

    I settle into my table and unwrap the food, seeing the usual comforting sights surrounding me: blooming flowers, sun worshippers enjoying their lunch break, picnickers with blankets spread on the ground. . Glancing up I am surprised to see a hawk lazily floating on the drafts and slowly circling overhead.  

    A hawk in the middle of New York City?  

    Some movement to my left catches my eye and I turn, my head on a swivel observing all the little events swirling around me: ping pong players driving the ball, authors reading from their books to an appreciative crowd, and chess players casually slamming down their pieces to psych out their opponents.

    I notice a guy standing near me with a thick leather sleeve on his left arm and ask if he has anything to do with the circling hawk. 

    “Yeah, he’s mine.” He continues, explaining, “The Park pays me to come here ‘cuz my hawk keeps the pigeons away. Makes the Park more pleasant for you and everyone here. No pigeons; no pigeon poop.”

    I nod and laugh, thanking him for the explanation. He wanders off. I turn back to my food and as I eat, continue watching the life of the city in microcosm, even breaking my reverie to do a little work now and again.

    Mere minutes later I hear screaming nearby, and twisting quickly in the direction of the sound, where I see the hawk, a Chihuahua firmly grasped in its talons, hovering in mid air trying to carry the poor dog away! The dog’s owner, a well dressed woman in a fashionable skirt, sleeveless blouse and 4 inch heels, stands screaming, clutching the leash against the beating of the hawk's wings. 

    I witness an epic life and death battle. 

    The hawk’s owner sprints over from a corner of the Park, shouting instructions to the hawk and waving his leather sleeved arm. People stream to the woman’s side in an attempt to help rescue the dog, shouting to scare the hawk and hoping it releases the dog. 

    The dog howls loudly, scared near to death, as the hawk clutches its prey tighter while screeching its distinctive “chwirk, chwirk” call. 

    The people helping the woman shout and scream at the top of their lungs. 

    I sit there my mouth agape, watching, knowing that, while Broadway is one block west of my seat, I’m watching the greatest show in the world, the daily drama of life crystalized in this event.             

    The hawk, not finding the Chihuahua the easy prey it expected, drops the dog, calmly rises on the afternoon breeze, the dog no longer a concern and not even a memory, and soars higher than the surrounding office towers. The crowd, person after person, reach to pet and calm the shaking dog. The woman owner thanks everyone, still fashionably dressed but now completely disheveled and crying, her makeup running down her cheeks causing her to look more like one of Broadway’s famed Cats or a circus clown then the stylish woman of minutes before. 

    My phone rings, I shake my head and turn away to answer it as, one by one, each person puts the encounter behind them and moves back to what they had been doing. 

    The breeze blows, the leaves rustle overhead, I’ve eaten my kati rolls and my battery nears the end of its charge. I stand, take one last look around the Park and see a yoga class forming across the broad verdant green lawn.

    A good day for some sun worshipping.