Morning Walk

Walking down the dirt hillside
I see the blades of grass drinking the morning light
and my shadow, like a dark angel, stretched out over them—

a blue jay in the distance
sweeping over eight or nine orange pumpkins
and then disappearing into a tree—

a flock of tiny birds singing
as they flit and flutter in the bushes
beside my path—

and then, at last, a white hawk with black wing tips
and a black-tipped tail, hovering in wide circles
above the hilly grassland, hunting, sharp-eyed and wheeling—

she vanishes over the hillcrest to my left.
I make my way downward, to faded blackberry bushes,
then out of wilderland and back onto a city street.

Jane Beal
Benicia, CA



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