Aberdeen, Maryland, to New York City, April 10, 2017

★★★★ It was warm now and the guns were pounding in the distance, the thumping too immense to be mere thunder. A red-shouldered hawk went screeching overhead in the bright sky. The light was harsh through the still-leafless branches. Spring beauties were blooming in the fallen leaves by the brush pile in the woods. The old pruning saw was dull and slow but the branches were so dead they would snap if the saw could be gotten halfway through them. A chickadee sang its desires in A major. The children had to be reminded to carry the coats they’d needed to wear two days before. More hawks were out above the highway at intervals, and at shorter intervals, in kettles, came vultures upon vultures, casting vulture shadows on the road before the car. Here and there were smears of fur and gore. Flags rippled a little faster than was attractive. The Ikea parking lot was as comfortable as the Ikea parking lot could ever be. The sun mellowed into goldenness. Unseen birds twittered in some darkening pines on the corner by the garage. The smell of people’s dinners pushed its way out the open side of a restaurant.