On the San Luis road, a family of bald eagles on the plains west of the road, eating something: two adults, three juveniles. They rose lazily, the sun flashing on the adults’ white heads, and settled again farther away. They looked as big as sheep.
Hours later we left on the same road. A little marsh hawk came skimming along above the fences. Then a big, moth-eaten redtail sat on a telephone wire, sick or in molt. I stopped the truck right underneath it. It looked at me over its shoulder, lifted its tail to show its fluffy vent, and shat. Missed me.