Hawk Ascending

This day-shine has a wine glass for every atom. A great pond of light floods a crystalline skyscape. Here in a wind-turned clarity glints of a lantern-etched lucidity take substance and form. Clearly, only elemental spirits could have conjured such, with their innate power to engrave the invisible. Looking back, I see, stamped into feature, a flight, a bolt of breathing, hawkish tinder. Over my shoulder, swift unfurled talons seem to seize the bare and leaping air, only then, do I spy a prey wriggling into one last appearance as wings arrow upwards.