In a field, hidden by the browning stalks of the tall grass, a speck moves. Sandy grey, the mouse searches out edibles amongst the organic debris; a jerky, nervous zig-zag.

In the sky, a dark pinpoint against the cloudless blue backdrop of the world, a speck moves. Golden brown, the hawk plummets out of the air in a carefully calculated arc.

In the field, a breath away from the hard ground, there is a connection and an ascension of feathery wings.

In the sky, two specks rise as one.

[A Sketch Of Talons]

Sketch by S. R.