The Wings of Afternoon

Saturday, sweet interlude, when at last I can breath the mountain air again. I climbed my thousand feet, found a place to lay and watch the day, with not a worry to disturb the peace. I suppose I could have gone higher, seen more and more of the waters and land, but here was enough for me, to pass the afternoon watching the clouds move in. The ravens were in flight, while the sandbars in the bay opened to the sky. A slight chill of wind reminded me that Winter still had teeth, but still I laid there and scanned the view. Below my perch of rock and slope, an eagle flapped his wings, passing less than thirty feet from me, not knowing I was there. He spun a circle in the air, passing in front of the mountain face, with sharp-pointed wings and perfect poise. His presence accented the afternoon like a point of light, balance against the passing clouds.