today, observations

Sunday morning, driving northwest of town, we saw two kestrels on the wire, wagging tails and watching us. 

Earlier, in the dark hours of the morning, I took the dog out. The moon still hung in the sky, behind a Siberian elm, whose branches dip low into our world and hang delicately in the winter air. A rabbit had made her way into the backyard and the dog stopped in his tracks, then ran a few short fast steps, then let the rabbit escape under the fence.

Later, we say aloud, "So this is Nebraska, " referencing Ted Kooser's poem of that name. We are in his poem for a moment, out in the country, before heading back to the strip of chain restaurants and condominium complexes that sprawl out from town, like the slow creep of watercolor on thick dry paper.