When I first moved  to Appalachia, there was a pair of nesting hawks in the tree by my home.

They returned year after year, but time went by, and things got in the way, and I did not see them, for so very long, and I forgot to look, that there was even something for which I was looking, gone.

Today, a young hawk, not fledgling, older, crossed my roof and alit, to where his parents raised him.


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