A hawk lifts from the pines and flies toward me across the lake.
It lands on the grassy slope next to where I’m sitting on a blanket.
The hawk grows in size, becoming bigger than I am.
Its eye dominates my field of vision.
I ask the hawk a question about how I should proceed,
and in answer it flies away, back toward the pines.
I try to follow it, but as I reach the middle of the lake,
the hawk dissolves into the sunlight.
Day four, five-minute mindful writing, a small stone for Writing Our Way Home.