It was the first morning of our honeymoon. We lingered on the balcony, overlooking Carmel-By-The-Sea.
“Smell those pine trees,” I said needlessly.
We sipped coffee, sitting at the little white table. Sweet rolls lounged on a plate of china.
“Remember that hawk?” you asked.
“Yes. Hard to believe.”
“He was flying so close to the jet engines. How could he take the noise?”
“How could he keep up with us taking-off down the runway? I never knew that hawks could fly so fast.”
“It was like he was playing. Like he was used to it.”
“What kind of a hawk was he?”
“A brown hawk?”
“Wonderful. Today we buy a bird-watcher’s book.”
Yesterday, from an altitude of 31,000 feet, the ocean had been a sheet of satin. The sky was a wall. Clouds were far below, and we…
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