kestrel mornings / air conditioned nights

:june morning:

along the edge of sleek, branch-less trunks,
kestrels cower together while their mother watches from above
three babies crowding the nest so much that
they resemble a feathered barnacle against the bark

their early attempts at flying earlier in the week
resembled slow, perilous falling
with panicked explosions of flapping at irregular intervals
but as they gained practice, the falling began to resemble infantile gliding

still, they retired to their nest at night to sleep
perhaps to dream about feathered flights
and in the morning, in the bright summer sunlight
I saw two of the three chicks flying across the lawn

it seemed odd that I could see their faces so well
until I realized that their bodies were facing mine
and in the early daylight, the image of the wheat field
was perfectly reflected from my vertical office windows

the first kestrel collided with the glass
with a thud and a geometric splay of feathers so frightening
that the second reeled in mid air to veer off to the right
and flew off in a jagged line toward the irrigation ditches

With a dry mouth and a pounding heart
I walked to the window, which showed no sign of impact
nothing-- stillness-- for a minute, maybe two
and then, finally, a brown head peering up at me from beneath the bushes

he took two small hops to the sidewalk, and waited
and my heart waited with him
cautiously, he extended one wing, and then the next,
standing vulnerably in the path with an arc of feathers around him

I felt an ache building in my chest
certain that one or more small bones were broken
knowing that a baby falcon wouldn't last long with territorial
redwing blackbirds and starlings overhead

the moment lasted forever-- he, standing with his wings outstretched,
me, running my fingertips over the latch on the window
and the drawstring on the blinds

and then, in three clumsy flaps, his wings arched and fell
and he was gone
I couldn't see his silhouette against
the bright yellow light that streamed in between the branches of the trees
but I knew that it was there


:june night:

air conditioners whir and creak and grunt
from the unit attached to my neighbor's building
inside, their floppy-eared golden retriever puppy
sleeps outstretched in his crate
dreaming about gnawing on Tom's hands with his shark teeth
and lying in a patch of sun
chewing
on rawhides
scented with bacon
while the old dog watches from inside