with these ears

the vulture’s call was like a hawk’s, just more throaty, less ethereal. A possible Chinese poem: “circling Vulture, expresses throaty.”

And that was only one of the hundred sounds on this hike, different from the blue quiet there my first go round. New low-to-the-ground flowers must have blossomed, lavendars and yellows, since Wednesday, the buzzy hum of countless bees lifting up from near my shoes. One mysterious rustle through the golden grass and scrub after another. A young guy advising I climb over the padlocked fence to do the higher ridge-line trail, his small, black dog offering little whines for my attention. The chatter of other hikers.

The vultures’ cree, cree, cree, me far below, though…