I freeze and wait for the rumble, but it never comes.
Sometimes in the evenings, when it is cloudy, I think I hear thunder;
but then it turns out it is just the busboy from the restaurant
dragging the metal trash cans out to the dumpster.
My heart leapt only to be let fall into the rotten heap of disappointment.
It was a bright morning. Driving fast down the freeway, I saw
her wings like the upcoming autumn.
She stooped to grab something on the side of the road
and I gasped as a van nearly clipped her.
She cartwheeled in mid-flight and I yelled a warning!
Wide-eyed and beak open, she gathered herself safely away from the cars,
talons fastened tight to a tree branch.
My knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel.
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