The repair job on the car window was finished this morning.

One last hug and a wave goodbye and our youngest was off.

The house was suddenly way, way too quiet.

I ripped back the top of the baby sweater I’d done wrong. On size 4 needles.

A Bewick’s wren showed up for a quick bite. I had so missed those…

And then this evening a whoosh grabbed my eye as a squirrel and a Cooper’s hawk (the hawk! The male! Hey you, long time no see here!) rushed in, feinting right, then left, and then the hawk grabbed the lawnmower handle, wheeled right again and away. At first impression it had seemed like the squirrel was chasing the hawk! But I think rather Coopernicus simply flew faster than the thing could run and he’d overtaken and gone past it. I don’t think that’s what he was hunting this time; he stayed at birdfeeder height.

He had a tail feather askew. Out of sight now, I looked back to see if the squirrel was watching him go, in taunting mode like the one awhile back that had won the Darwin award, but no, he’d disappeared into hiding. Good.

My mind’s been on the road all day: climbing over the Sierras, careful on those pointing-down freeway curves with the thousand-foot drops, across the endlessness of the Nevada desert, past dusty Wendover and the shriveled former ocean, and at last the lights of Salt Lake City in the distance as you come around yet another mountain, willing John and his friends a safe journey on their long drive back.