A hawk hovering in our yard, waiting to scoop up dinner in the form of a chipmunk.
Squirrel stopping for a snack on the steps.
I am inside, writing my words, my mind half in and half out of the window.
Life and writing, serious and humorous, old and young, past and present: it's all part of the fabric.
“Maybe we’re here only to say: house, bridge, well, gate, jug, olive-tree, window--at most, pillar, tower--but to say them, remember, oh! to say them in a way that the things themselves never dreamed of so intensely.” --Rilke