(Editor's note: The writer is an associate professor of sociology at Adelphi University and a Woodbury resident.)

I dropped my walking stick and raised my binoculars attempting to locate the big bird. As soon as it came into view the color of the bird's tail left no doubt - it was a red-tailed hawk. Just seconds ago the raptor had flown low over the Greenbelt Trail in front of me and landed in a branch of a tree about 40 yards away. Without binoculars, which my wife had urged me to take before I left the house, all I could see was a tiny, dull brown-colored shape, which blended perfectly into the trees, looking a little too thick to be a broken branch.

The rust-colored tail had a thin, black horizontal line near the base and just below at the base was a similar white line. The bird's back was a dull brown with white areas inside of which were smaller brown spots. The head and face seemed grayish in pale winter light. When the bird turned its head sideward the large black eye seemed almost to bulge. The head and neck were so smooth that I wanted to reach out and pet it.

Earlier I had seen a pair of elusive cardinals in the brush and had gotten a good look at a mockingbird in a bush. But here in front of me was a prize that I wanted a closer look at. Between the hawk and me was a lot of open space covered by a carpet of leaves, which would crinkle as soon as I set foot on them. The bird had to know that I was there and would leave as soon as it felt threatened by my presence.

I moved behind an adjacent tree, which changed my angle of view, hoping to see more of the bird, which appeared to be resting and occasionally looking around. The hawk hopped to another tree seeming to have wedged itself between the trunk and a limb. No, it had simply jumped to a thinner branch. How long would it stay? Not long. Soon it unceremoniously flew down seemingly to the ground. I checked my watch to discover that I had been looking at the bird for at least seven minutes. I now started to cross the ground close to where the bird had been. My path was obstructed by thorny vines which I knew from experience could embed themselves in my clothing. However, I saw where the hawk had gone. Below was Woodbury Road on which there were a few stores and slowly moving cars, which looked like miniature toys.

I stood there and thought about the incongruity of the hawk which hunts small rodents and the suburban scene in front of me. I could picture the bird's head as it soared across the road leaving cars and stores behind. I wish I could say that the bird did something dramatic but it didn't. Watching it left me feeling better than I had in weeks if not months. While I had been engrossed with the raptor, I felt at one with it. Now I felt alive and vibrant; more like myself than I had in a long time.

One month ago I had undergone a medical procedure from which I was now recovering nicely. I had decided to try a slow, moderate walk along the trail on a day where gusty wind made trees sway and creak like old door hinges. Luck had been with me. One just doesn't see a hawk cross the trail and wait around to be viewed.

I tucked the binoculars inside my coat and walked a short distance under a now graying sky, stopping to take out of my fanny pack, part of the reason I had not wanted to take the binoculars before leaving the house. It was a newly acquired cell phone, which my wife insisted that I carry in case I was feeling too tired to finish the walk. The binoculars were too clunky, besides I wasn't likely to see much I protested. But listening to her sage advice, I took them. I called her and proceeded to relay what had happened. "Good thing I took the binoculars," I said. Without missing a beat she reminded me who had encouraged me to take them. It's odd how quickly we forget.