The two Prairie Falcons are playing in the wind currents along the face of the cliff, shrieking and crying. One carries the hindquarters of a long-tailed rodent, pausing at times to land and rend its prey and eat, or sometimes simply eating on the wing. Another perches on an old hawk nest and screams. Watching them, something opens in me: a moment of grace.
This is why I go birding.
