Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)

Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance

of the eagles,

The rushing amorous contact high in space together,

The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,

Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight

grappling,

In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,

Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull,

A motionless still balance in the air, then parting,

talons loosing.

Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their

separate diverse flight,

She hers, he his pursuing.

~

The Dalliance of the Eagles, Mark Twain, American author (1835 - 1910)

Photos: The Grand River, Cayuga. Long shadows of early morning ~ Lorna

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