A few days ago, a red-tailed hawk swooped past the window and landed in the small bare maple opposite the front door. Not a very large bird, it was still too big for its chosen perch. With each move it made, it was poked and brushed by twigs. Finally it braved the maze and dropped to the ground. After investigating the muddy dahlia bed, it flew off across the driveway to the young volunteer walnut tree planted by a squirrel near the sidewalk. After an awkward What am I doing here? moment, it returned to the sky, where it no longer looked like a full-sized candle on a cupcake, but a calligraphic boomerang meringue at the pinnacle of perfection. For him, the imagined alps; for me, the gentle slopes of an ever present childhood.
As I Recall
Oh, yes. As I recall,
It happened many times.
When my mother cracked an egg,
The kitchen curtains were brushed aside
And the summer sun jumped inside
Her mixing bowl.
Songs and Letters, April 5, 2007
Another Song I Know, Cosmopsis Books, 2007
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