Swift “dive from an oak”
brutal sounds of breaking on the ground
“a dead bird placed reverently in a hawking bag…
deep in the muddled darkness
six copper pheasant feathers glowed
in a cradle of blackthorns”
a young girl “picked them free, one by one,”
tucked them inside her pocket,
one inside her fist, moments of being held tight.
Walking home she felt a change
years later she would understand why.
note: the quoted words or lines are from H is for Hawk by Helen MacDonald, a book I just started reading.