Day 33. Buff colored tufts, tiny avian tumbleweeds, escaped a ragged feather oval splattered on the ground. A breeze released the down. The size of the feathered mass plus the few remaining flight feathers–black flags that swayed in the frozen brittle grass–gave mute testimony that a bird of prey–a red tail hawk, perhaps–flew away with a mourning dove.

About fragmentsandthoughts

A one-generation-off-the boat demi-Sicilian.
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