al fresco
There’s a little pavilion halfway through the route I run when I’m at my parents’ house. The light poles in their neighborhood development are wooden, flat-topped, convenient bird rest-stops. Yesterday a sharp-shinned hawk was by the pavilion. At first the hawk was completely still, but as I did my stretches and caught my breath I saw feathers falling lightly to the street. A lot of feathers—not hawk-colored—and then a small branch. The hawk didn’t immediately notice me, but when it did it looked positively furtive.
“You’re going to blog about this, aren’t you?” it said.
