A hawk scoured the sun-bleached grasses on the flank of a nearby hill as the honor guard cracked their three-volley salute. For a moment following the final volley, everything but the hawk stood still. The roving clouds paused. The wind failed to lift the nearby flags.
We
came to green grass amid the bleached hills to commit to an opening in the
earth another man, a friend this time. We recalled the high school days, his
arrivals on loud motorcycles, the absences, and his joyous returns.
Speaking
in softer tones than when we arrived, the lot of us dispersed back into the dry
valley beyond. Only the hawk remained unchanged by the new quiet we assumed. I
spotted it swinging from cloud to cloud, now a little higher in the air.
Rest
in peace, Michael McVeigh.
—Mitchell
Hegman
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