Monday, February 22, 2010
There are all these back paths around my neighborhood. They vaguely follow all the paved ditches we have to prevent flooding. It was finally not freezing today. On my walk this afternoon I saw a blue heron, a hawk, and a white egret (and a hundred broken beer bottles). All within fifteen minutes, and only a dozen feet from me. Each considered me warily, except for the orangey-eyed hawk, who seemed kinda lackadaisical about the whole thing. Maybe he'd just eaten. He might be what gutted out poor Theophanu.
He saw a bird flying. It was the only bird in the sky, just as they were the only people walking on the street. It was far away, flying in wide, unhurried circles, contemplating the world on which its shadow fell with the arrogance that all flying things have. He thought it might be the raven, and wished that he had had a chance to say good-bye, although he knew that it would have meant nothing to the raven. But men must always say good-bye to things.
~ A Fine and Private Place, by Peter S. Beagle