Eagle

Nobody wants to be that old bald eagle in a snow storm, one only high in a white frozen tree bluster-blown sometimes stiff as a rock unheeded dead or living eyes blinded by the stabbing nails of a blizzard. Yet it is there held fast and grasped by an unrelenting fate while the high screaming wind won't let go nor will the eagle. You watch it from inside a stationary truck wind-wipers swiping loudly you notice nothing else because the storm is wrecking your vision you just watch anyway as the chilled vista appears and disappears and the eagle pins you down with a bone hard steady stare daring to survive and you pityingly safe yet so small.