The God of Thunder
It is Thursday; there is time for pause.
Pause I did as I traveled down a non-major but not quite residential street through the heart of Stephenville. I had already observed several starlings, tailless grackles and mockingbirds and my moderate pace was sufficient to enjoy them. But up on the power line above a thicket sat--something.
It was larger than a mockingbird or grackle; smaller than the smallest hawk I had ever seen. Other than a dark bill, plain grayish front, and dark tail-tip, I didn't know what it really looked like. Again (tsk, tsk) I had gone out unequipped and unexpectant of roadside wonders. Squinting, I even realized I should probably wear my light-prescription glasses more than I do.
My quarry sat obediently stationary; darting glances in the mirror and over the shoulder assured me that as yet I provoked no road rage by my dalliance. I knew I would have to move, though, and my heart fell as I realized I didn't have any idea what I was looking at or even looking for.
Just as I abandoned hope and lifted my foot from the brake, a truck drove angrily by. I ascribe anger to the truck and retract not the descriptor; these domineering brutes have a life of their own in central Texas. Perhaps I would find the bird in subsequent research; perhaps I might even see it again after such enlightenment.
"Here pause: pause at once. There is enough said. Trouble no quiet, kind heart; leave sunny imaginations hope."
Pause I did as I traveled down a non-major but not quite residential street through the heart of Stephenville. I had already observed several starlings, tailless grackles and mockingbirds and my moderate pace was sufficient to enjoy them. But up on the power line above a thicket sat--something.
It was larger than a mockingbird or grackle; smaller than the smallest hawk I had ever seen. Other than a dark bill, plain grayish front, and dark tail-tip, I didn't know what it really looked like. Again (tsk, tsk) I had gone out unequipped and unexpectant of roadside wonders. Squinting, I even realized I should probably wear my light-prescription glasses more than I do.
My quarry sat obediently stationary; darting glances in the mirror and over the shoulder assured me that as yet I provoked no road rage by my dalliance. I knew I would have to move, though, and my heart fell as I realized I didn't have any idea what I was looking at or even looking for.
Just as I abandoned hope and lifted my foot from the brake, a truck drove angrily by. I ascribe anger to the truck and retract not the descriptor; these domineering brutes have a life of their own in central Texas. Perhaps I would find the bird in subsequent research; perhaps I might even see it again after such enlightenment.
"Here pause: pause at once. There is enough said. Trouble no quiet, kind heart; leave sunny imaginations hope."
-Charlotte Bronte, Villette
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