The Hawk

The Hawk

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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

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