What of someone who is happy and joyful, but unable to communicate, while those around him assume he is miserable and sad? And what of those who are miserable and sad, who assume everyone else is?
Early morning the day after Christmas — not one soul out to see the frosty rooftops.
I saw, or think I saw, an eagle in the neighbor’s fir tree the other day. But it might have been an angel, or a hawk.
Afternoon. The ancient black walnut, deep in moss. Goose Lake, telling only as much as it wants passersby to know. Flickers and sparrows unseen, then a hawk. Two owls, several hundred feet between them, hooting in great winter echoes from grove to grove. A bare tree full of starlings: a bare tree that is not bare. White beards on the oaks.