This morning a bird -- a hawk, perhaps? -- flew across the sky as I took a shot of the George Washington Bridge.
Because the weather has turned cold in the past few days, I felt particularly grateful for the sunlight that for a few seconds streamed into the guest room, which is usually dark. It was a quiet day: the cats meandered around, sleeping here and there, while Stephen and I worked on our computers. At one point my mother called to ask about some photographs and I spent a few minutes talking to my father as well, who is having a party in a few weeks for his 80th birthday that I'll be attending.
As the day wore on, the sky turned to an almost brittle azure, which made the bridge look small and distant.
As time does outside of the workplace, it passed quickly and with decided determination until we decided to have afternoon tea and stollen.
As the sun began to set -- at around 12:30pm -- we decided to go for a short walk. Outside a flock of pigeons circled madly overhead, and I wondered if I was seeing a projection of my own racing thoughts.
At the house, I admired the Christmas cactus, which is blooming right on schedule.
In the darkening sky, I was shocked to see a massive bird descend from a nearby tree to land on a street light.
I ran across the median and confirmed that it was a red-tailed hawk. Though hardly unprecedented in Manhattan, I had never seen one in our neighborhood, or at least on the commercial strip. I wondered if it might be the same hawk I had seen streaking across the sky this morning.
Back in the apartment, the river -- smooth and flat as glass -- reflected the last remnants of the sun but offered no answer to my question.
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