It was late on an autumn night as I swung the car into the rough lane that leads to our house. A few feet beyond the mailbox post, the headlights caught something in the grass. At first it could have been a rabbit standing tall, but closer inspection revealed it to be a magnificent bird, most likely a Peregrine falcon but possibly a gyrfalcon, and it had chosen our lane as a resting place on its migratory route. The bird stood fast, boldly staring at the car, not six feet in front of the headlights, shifting from one leg to the other and sometimes swiveling its head to take in the wider scene.
Neither bird nor observer showed any inclination to move, and we scrutinized each other respectfully for fully five minutes. The strength and majesty of this masterful creature were palpable. Eventually the bird chose to fly, and with a few powerful beats of its elegant wings it climbed away effortlessly into the darkness and perched in a tree, lost from sight in the night. Bidding the bird safe passage to wherever it was drawn, I admired its perfect blend of form and function, its mobility and mastery of the sky, its ability, on the command of impulses from a small brain, to leave the surface of the earth, rise into thin air and fly wherever it chooses.
