The plane slides over the Bay Bridge,
and I return to my small life.
Hydrangeas dip their heads when
my suitcase thuds against the door.

I stand in silence, spend moments
in hope of a muted rest,
as sounds of the airport fade.
I hardly move, want to feel a little less

human to connect with the red-tailed hawk
on the oak branch above me,
the way he holds his head,
resting after his own whirlwind of flight.

Evening penetrates me and our earth,
each plant and animal that survives,
touching now—hawk, hydrangeas,
gnarled hand on the back door.

Published in Birdland Journal January 2020