24/06/2026
I WASN’T WINKING AT YOU.
MY EYELID HAD SEALED OVER THE EYE I NEEDED TO HUNT.
You found me on the lowest fence post.
A red-tailed hawk.
Still there when the field had emptied of morning shadows.
One eye watched the grass.
The other remained closed beneath swollen feathers.
Perhaps you thought I was resting it.
Perhaps you believed I had been born with only one useful eye.
Perhaps, because I could still spread my wings, you assumed I would manage.
But I was hungry.
And the half of the world I could still see was no longer enough.
Days earlier, something had struck my face.
A branch hidden inside tall grass.
The claw of struggling prey.
A sharp seed head driven beneath the eyelid.
The injury was small.
So small that I continued hunting.
At first, I blinked more often.
Tears washed across the eye.
I rubbed my face against my shoulder feathers and waited for the irritation to leave.
Instead, the surface became inflamed.
Light began to hurt.
The eyelids swelled.
Discharge dried along their edges until opening the eye required more strength than keeping it closed.
Still, I returned to the field.
A hawk does not stop needing food because seeing has become painful.
From above, I searched for movement.
One eye turned toward the ground.
The other gave me nothing.
A mouse crossed the grass.
I dropped.
But distance had changed.
The ground reached me sooner than expected.
My talons closed behind the animal.
It disappeared beneath the weeds.
I climbed back into the air with an empty grip.
The next attempt ended short.
The next too far to one side.
Each failed strike consumed energy I could not replace.
So I began hunting from lower places.
Fence posts.
Road signs.
Branches close to the ground.
Not because I had become comfortable near people—
but because I could no longer judge a long descent safely.
By the time you found me, the feathers beneath my eye were wet and matted.
My breast felt lighter.
My feet still gripped the wood.
My wings still looked strong.
But strength is not enough when the body depends on precision.
A raptor with one eye swollen shut may have trauma, a corneal wound, infection or a foreign object hidden beneath the eyelid. Eye injuries can worsen rapidly and may permanently damage vision without veterinary treatment.
For a bird that catches moving prey from the air, losing depth perception can mean repeated missed strikes, collisions and starvation.
Please do not walk closer to make me fly.
Do not throw food toward me.
Do not attempt to open the eyelid.
Do not use human eye drops, ointment or saline unless a wildlife professional specifically directs you.
Never try to remove a visible thorn or object yourself. What appears loose may be embedded in delicate tissue.
Keep people and pets away.
Observe from a safe distance.
Record the exact location and note whether the bird can fly, whether it repeatedly misses perches, and whether there is swelling, discharge or blood around the eye.
Then contact a licensed wildlife rehabilitator or raptor-rescue organization immediately.
If containment is recommended, follow their instructions carefully. Hawks can defend themselves with their feet even when weak, and improper handling can worsen both the eye injury and the bird’s stress.
I was not winking at you.
I was watching the field with half the vision I had been born to use—
waiting for prey I could still detect,
but could no longer reach accurately enough to survive.
