“A Kettling of Hawks.”

That was the title I almost gave to the new piece I hope you’ll permit me to share with you this morning.

What? What is a “kettling”? Stuffing birds into teapots?

The word is little known. As a title, it would be misleading.

And yet ...

Three months ago, as I was applying finishing touches to this piece, I looked up from my laptop and out my east-facing window and took in the view: a grassy field in the foreground, noble old trees in the middle ground and a glimpse of the hills that enclose our valley of the Little Miami, maybe two miles off. And two or three hundred feet above all this were eleven hawks, wings extended, motionless but circling and slowly, effortlessly ascending.

What were they doing -- and why? I googled the question and discovered that they were “kettling.” Which means they were riding air currents, watching each other to discern where the invisible rising currents are. Apparently, if google is to be believed, they do this for the fun of it, communally.

Two weeks later, driving alongside the Ohio River on Columbia Parkway I saw another “kettling of hawks." Now I know what a kettling is.

It is a good thing to know. I envy those hawks. I would like very much to be a member of a community that is rising, effortlessly. To be sure, my community, i.e., the community of human beings, the human race, has risen in some respects. I’ve seen it in my lifetime. But not effortlessly. The wreckage we’ve caused very nearly outweighs the progress we’ve made.

Everything that makes me feel proud of the human race is offset by things that make me feel ashamed. This holds true both globally and nationally. Everything that made me proud to be an American is under ferocious assault. Will we prevail? Will good prevail over evil?

Thornton Wilder’s play, “The Skin of Our Teeth,” maintains that we will prevail … but only just, only “by the skin of our teeth.” I hope he’s right.

Near the play’s end, the protagonist, George Antrobus, tells his wife and, by extension, us, the audience, "Every good and excellent thing in the world stands moment to moment on the razor edge of danger and must be fought for."

He is right. The human condition is precarious. I envy those kettling hawks.

Still, “kettling” would not serve as a title. I tried to think of other words that pertain to rising, lifting and soaring. Then I hit upon “Ascendance.”

I like the spirituality the word “Ascendance” implies. We immediately think of “ascendance” as a spiritual growth.

Moreover the piece is in the Lydian mode, the scale with a sharped fourth, which gives the music an inherent “lift.”

I wrote “Ascendance” as vehicle for the cellist Michael Ronstadt, whose playing of my music you have heard before in these messages.

Michael is featured on my CD “Ronstadt plays Sowash, Vol. 1”, the first of what will be a series of three or four albums featuring music I’ve composed for cello. “Ascendance” will be on the next volume in the series, to be released late this year.

Though the piece is scored for string quartet, which usually connotes equality among the four players, the cello is given the most prominent role.

In the last section the cello literally ascends for its lowest note — the open C string — to what is just about its highest note, five octaves above that. In the final chord, the cello is in fact playing the highest note. It’s an F major chord and the cello is playing the C.

To hear “Ascendance” performed by violinists Doug Hamilton and Annette Misener, violist Rose Gowda and cellist Michael Ronstadt, click on the link above. There's also a link to a PDF of the score.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Feb. 22, 2026
www.sowash.com