Heron over White Flower Field

Just after the hawk came to her when her father died before she got the news, two pairs of huge wings caught my eye.

Our two dads. How lucky we were to have them.

Remembering the snow in April. Turning his hospital bed to face the window. Watching it fall together.

First in a dream. Then “for real”.

Visions to carry into a celestial event. Four minutes of darkness.

Remembrance of windshields covered with dead bugs and our backyard shooting stars.