The Hawk

            
             The field grass was a tall, with broken, and dry strands, so dry and flimsy that it would rustle in the wind. Yellowish with a brown tint made the field look like it went on forever. Mello Yellow, the sky looked that day with high clouds in front of a gleaming sun. With trees scarcely scattered about with very few leaves on them, like as if everything was about to die, but still had a little hope of life with the scattered leaves dangling from the branches. As the wind blew, the leaves were struggling to stay attached to the branches, they were twisting, fluttering, and somehow managing to stay attached to the branches. When all of a sudden something swoops out of one of the trees.
             This hawk was enormous in size it did not look like it could stay up in the air like it did. Red and black, the colors of its feathers, so shinny that they glared from the sun. The feathers groomed to perfection everyone even on the tail and wings looked perfect. Its eyes, big, and bold, with a vicious meaning deep inside of them. Soaring high in the air, and floating as graceful as a feather skimming across an area of water. It was as aware as a cat on the prowl, and it seemed to be looking for something. The claws of the hawk were as pointy as a needle, and were the shape of a shrimp. As it flew a noticeable white spot appeared on its breast, maybe that it signified elderliness, or that it was a male. When all of a sudden it started to circle over this one area in the field.
             As the hawk would circle every so often it would spread its wings and dive towards the ground and then come back up, and then start circling again. While circling, it would flap its wings a few times and then glide, the wings shifted on an angle when it would circle, and the wingspan was just so long, it could not compare to anything else. Then it would make another diving attempt towards the ground, only this time it would get closer to the ground.