On my way to work today,
I saw a bald eagle.
Its six-foot wings strenuously flapping as its body
barley skimmed above the barren branches
of winter cottonwoods.
It followed the river corridor,
the water, trees, and brush,
a buffer to encroaching civilization.
I accelerated to the bridge
hoping to get a better view,
but lost the image in a backdrop
of snow-capped mountains
and dark exposed rock.
I wanted to follow the eagle down river;
find a place to perch, watch, and listen,
feel the sun warm the down in my jacket.
Instead, I drove down thirty-first street
catching green traffic lights;
promptness bred into my blood
by a father bent on being dependable.
Secretly, I know that he too
would rather follow the eagle.
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