A lone shape sits high

on an overhanging branch,

hunts alone.

Spread before his dark outline

he sees a crispy white, winter morning.

The writer receives a true gift,

catches a vision of the eagle,

the solitary hunter

high on a pulpit. Like a

Sunday morning preacher,

the proud Eagle projects more than

words, transmits a warm feeling,

emanates a confidence,

for an immeasurable moment,

all is right with the world.