Falcon
I was at a friend's place, sitting at their dining-room table. Looked up and suddenly there was a falcon, covered all over in red and brown feathers, standing on a perch maybe six or eight feet away, looking at me.
I was too startled (and scared) to call out to my friend, who was in the other room. I lifted my arm and held it up in front of my face--half in defense, and half because I knew falcons were trained to land on arms, though I also knew the arms in question were usually covered in leather to defend from claws.
The falcon lifted into the air and covered the space between us before I could move, and landed gently on my arm.
I was still staring at it in amazement and wonder when I woke up.
Oh, well.
(I was going to go on here to talk about the value of afternoon naps, about my childhood fascination with falcons, and about my history with the book Summer of the Falcon, but I think I'll keep this entry short for once--too much else I ought to be doing, now that I'm awake.)
