Everything we love is an accident that was written in the stars.
Tuesday, November 19, 2019
All the talented birds
I was walking along the Mississippi River and I came upon a raptor, a great bird. His head was all white, but the white did not end at the shoulder, rather it bled into tan and then into something almost cappuccino colored as it flowed down his body. "You're not an eagle." I said to him in mild surprise. "I get that all the time." He replied, and then he flew out over the river. He was unusually good at it.