Sometimes when I close my eyes I imagine opening them again and seeing hawks circling, kind of like a little mobile of black cut-outs against a blue ceiling.
You don’t really understand the canyons until you see the hawks circling. You get it when you see them watching. And when you ask yourself, “what are they looking at?” And when you figure out the answer.
Once, I hiked up to the meadow on Franklin Canyon. A few clouds mingled around aimlessly but they all seemed to avoid blocking the sun. Like a party where everyone chats but dances around the asshole host.
I dangled my feet over the cliff and leaned back and stared up at the sky.
I was in and out of sleep until dusk and I was in and out of dreams too. In some of the dreams I was somewhere else, and in some of them I didn’t move at all.
But in one of them I was with the hawks and all we did was wait for something while we watched down below us, watching, watching, watching, but nobody would tell me what we were waiting and watching for, and eventually I got the feeling nobody knew, and that we wouldn’t know until we saw it.
So sometimes when I close my eyes I think about that.
