The buzz of the city washes over me as I open the front door. The pups and I step out for our morning walk and, compared to yesterday, we’re two hours late. I don’t normally walk this late, but it is Friday, and I don’t have to teach today. Being awake for awhile in the middle of the night doesn’t help either, but that’s ok… I’m in no hurry. We step onto the street, our shadows stretching onto the pavement. Everywhere are the sounds of the morning commute, the rush to work, to school, to wherever. We walk, quietly, but for the jangle of dog hardware… clinks and chings… Bear mountain is nowhere to be seen, even though I know it’s right there. It’s shrouded in the valley haze. The sky is a pale blue, not that deep color I love, and streaked with contrails from east to west, horizon to horizon. We walk and walk. I pull the dogs close as drive-time cars pass, people on their way to eight o’clock. We turn the corner and my shadow stretches across the street to the opposite sidewalk, mirroring my each step, and each of the dogs. I hear a commotion off overhead. At the pinnacle of a pine tree to my left is a hawk, sitting on the very tip, and he’s being harassed by crows. They’re not afraid of him, they’re easily his size. But he doesn’t flinch and holds his spot looking over the neighborhood. The crows finally give up and head for another tree and I, too, forget about the hawk for now. It’s not much further on and I hear a whooosh! and the shshshsh of little wings right overhead. I glance up just in time to see a flock of little birds swirl and dive out of the way of a dark bullet. The hawk is only a blur as he dives through the clutch of birds… I can’t tell if he will be having breakfast this morning… I stand there in awe of the morning… of this sight, this small spectacle that takes place, even as the city purrs and groans and shakes on it’s way to Friday.