Light-Foot/Honey Paw,

the hunter home from the hill sings

of an old man, uncle of the woods.

Finnish Lapland. May ’18.

This in early July, (fittingly enough on Independence Day) was the last kites nest that I climbed to this year. The chick, by now full grown, glared at me, launched itself out of the nest, and flew off to sky dance and dream whatever it is that kites dream, if dream they do.