On the wing.

Tonight is one of those nights: things are effervescing over here. And so I'm simply giving you another of Friday evening's marvels: these hawks on the wing, only a fraction of the group that circled and wheeled in the windy dusk. I identify: here's an updraft, there a cross-current, and I catch one, then the other, a dip and a turn, a gilding of edges, an effort of grace. Remember how I didn't want to leave home? All of you who said I'd change my mind can now say I told you so (though I'll immediately point out that I agreed with you). I think I've found my archive.

Tomorrow, I hope you'll get more than hawks from me.