When 7 p.m. rolled around, my Clevelander student and I ventured out once more to find the eagle. Tonight, she came prepared, armed with directions from my department's resident bird-watcher. We parked the car and went peering up into trees, seeking a nest anywhere--to no avail. With the tiniest bit of trespassing, though, we espied a dark shape atop a huge hill of stone.
Perhaps--and really, it has to be said--we're training to be more eagle-eyed ourselves. Perhaps this is the other meaning of eagle-eyed: to be eyed so as to see the eagle.
It was in fact a day of ongoing, low-key transformations. Tomorrow, I see an accountant for the first time in my life; I find this prospect strangely intimidating. I am finally finishing reading some books. I have finally begun making small stacks of things I will need to pack, and remembering the weird magic tricks that make a daily life's worth of stuff squeeze into two relatively small containers.
Things in general move on at their usual slowly swifting pace--part of the reason that our time spent walking up and down a dusty Ohio backroad was so welcome tonight.