The photo I’ve shared — a faithful reflection of what I saw.
Not taken in the moment,
but remembered.
It began with a sound I couldn’t name.
Something unsettled. Something not mine.
From the bathroom —
noise, sharp and foreign,
inside.
But the window is so small.
How could something enter?
No thing I know.
I live alone on the fourth floor.
There are no neighbors beside me.
And I am careful. I do not open doors to the unknown.
I walked away from it.
I called someone. I waited.
By the time they arrived —
nothing.
Empty silence like an exhale after fear.
But it was the beginning.
The day after—
I came home from a meal, ordinary.
Opened the door to a presence.
A hawk —
perched, resting, watching.
On the window.
So close.
Yellow eyes like lightning — wild, fierce.
Feathers of brown and white
like wind and bone.
He stared through the glass
and knocked.
Once.
Then again.
The sound was forceful — like someone calling without a voice.
It rattled the pane.
I thought the glass might shatter.
Thank god the window was closed.
It’s usually open.
I don’t know what would’ve happened if it wasn’t.
I didn’t move.
Phoning someone —
not knowing what to do.
And then, as he came —
he left.
Ten minutes later.
Vanished —
just as the help I’d called arrived.
I knew then it was him
the day before, in the bathroom.
Same call. Same energy.
For a week, I looked to the sky every time I stepped outside.
Half terrified, half yearning.
A part of me wanted him to return.
Another part still wonders what would’ve happened
if I had left the window open.
I am the spiritual type.
Of course, I searched for meanings.
Hawk — the seer, the messenger,
the guardian between worlds.
But some things go beyond symbol.
It was real.
Majestic.
Feral.
The one I regret, looking back —
not taking a photo.
But in the moment:
only awe.
Only silence.
Only the hawk —
knocking like a storm
that has come.
