The sound of sleet
beating dried leaves
and melting on us.
It hits hard, then runs like rain.
We climb
to the top of tablerock hill,
a heavy snow just beginning.
“Look!”
Three strong downstrokes and she’s up -
broad wings, a short arc -
a hawk.
The air is thick
with snow.
Still, her wings held high
her sharp nose down
she pierces
smooth
through the gloom.
It’s all snow now -
there’s no sound but us.
Wings first, then body
she vanishes in the snow.
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