Down by the arroyo, intersecting the Alexandra
Dawson Conservation Path, the resident Egret perched far above the crows,
watching our approach.
As the group of adolescent crows left off
feeding on corn in the field for the refuge of their favorite lookout tree, and
then as we kept walking, decided to leave us on our own, flying off with great
caws! and hollers.
Down on the ground, the morning fog closed
everything in, so that everything felt buffered, softened in the mist.
The day before, the air was nothing but thick
beautiful glistening soup, swirling and sweeping about, and then down toward
the river.
The morning fog rolled right down the steep
sides of the arroyo as if called, as if answering; as if rushing to reunite
with the sea.
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