The little streak is like the long, thick streaks, which bounce their shine up from the bodies of water where the water creatures dwell. But those shines mean: coolness; those shines invite escape from the heat of the yellow sky fire. The little shine means more.
That small echo of sky fire sends its message to the skillful, hunter-eye. From the thin top of the narrow brown excavator. The message is: food; food for one's self; food for one's children.
Left, right, forward, backward-under: relentless search. The scope of the field of vision eternally scrutinized. A box, moving on a long black strip (one of those roaring, moving nests of the dangerous creatures who kill with strange appendages that crack like thunder and which they can discard. Their moving nests send poison breath like their bigger nests.
Greens clustered close to the land, where creatures of the ground live and play and search for their own spottings that mean: food.
And the streak is seen. The descent begins.
"The Owl Approaches Sol and the Swan" orginally
published in The Canvass Chronicle.