ReflectionAt dusk I watched a hawk float high in the darkening sky. Above the green, below the stars, its silhouette in fading light became the outline of the moon. When it dropped toward the field and up again, away into the western sky, its wings held the rhythm of the rain that started just as lights came on.

Halfway to morning, moonlight through the slats of my old window shade exposed a splintered dream, and sent it back for a new cadence that lasted until dawn.

Sunrise brought a crimson sky, and the pulse of the feather I found among the thorns held the rhythm of the rain.


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