Author: Henk Rossouw

  I was born amongspeech-prone animals, blind to all but the sliverabove. I see the hawks often there—inseparable,a pair, red-shouldered. Omen of tall woods and water.The first hawk oak-alighted to hunt the bridle path,the second circling, her kee-aah letting the other birds—at the rim of perception— know of my unknowing?