Last night an eagle came in through the bedroom window. There was a great commotion in black and white, beating wings and splintered moonlight. He settled under the simple wooden table where I draw and write letters. An occasional passing car swept the room with light and we regarded one another. Fell back into shadow. Regarded one another. Eventually the cars stopped and clouds covered the moon.
He was still there in the morning, looking rested and alert.
Dancing on Frozen Beaver Ponds 