The Black Shouldered Kite

I stop walking in the middle of the dirt road
and take a quick glance around for cars,
but the path is clear and I'll have time to move,
so I look up at the large bird in the bright sky,
its white body stark against the clear blue.
Its wings look like they've been dipped
in black ink that has diffused up the feathers
turning gray at the shoulders and highlighting
the powerful flaps the raptor takes to stay
in one place over my head, watching.

I continue to watch, the seconds ticking
away as the kite flies hard without moving
from its chosen spot in the windy air.
My hand slips into my bag, groping
aimlessly for my camera, though I know
it won't capture the absurdity and awe
of the moment, of the black and white
raptor with a scrunched up head
hovering against a bare blue sky.

My fingers close around the rubber case
and the kite catches a draft, curving
down and to the side before perching
in the crown of a nearby full tree.

I knew the camera couldn't catch it.