Hooted awake by a close-in Great Horned Owl at 4:15; thoughts of death. Not because of Native mythology but because Mazzy the cat was out hunting. Scrambled from the loft into the pale morning to protect her. Stayed alongside the river shivering with awe as the water gave birth to fog and dawn bled along the scalp of Yamsi Mountain then slid into my valley. Here kitty, kitty.

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