A little (true) story in response to Helen Macdonald’s H is for Hawk.
I called her. I had lost hope in her coming but I called her all the same. And she flew to me. She flew like a promise finally kept. She raced towards me, wings flickering across fifty yards of flint-strewn earth, hit the glove and stayed. I gave her back to Stuart and called her again. Three times she flew to my fist the whole length of the creance with total conviction. There was no hesitation, no faltering. The hawk flew to me as if I were home. – from Helen Macdonald, H is for Hawk. Hilary’s review is here.
In the paddock at the bottom of the hill, within sight of the outdoor school, a kerfuffle begins. Horses charge along the fence, ears pinned, indignant. I see them a split second before Maggie does.
Maggie sees them. She tosses her head and surges on; I close my…
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