Oh, to fly

There was a nighthawk flying over my head last night at the softball game.
I first noticed it as I got pummeled at homeplate, my glove flying off of my left hand, an “oomph!” bursting from me as I hit the ground. As I hopped back up to try and find the ball, my left side throbbing from the 6 foot runner’s smackdown,
I saw what looked like a brown ghost glide silently and erratically overhead.

A nighthawk has a gaping mouth that is outlandishly wide, lined in bright yellow, whiskers poking out like a crazy uncle’s eyebrows. Eyes like black moons, with
feathers soft and brown, accented in black markings. They eat and eat and eat
and swoop and eat and swoop. Being as I was catcher, I had to return my eyes to the mound, but I was sneaking peeks.

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