Leaning back against the ranch rail I sighted four rust-colored hawks lined up in formation overhead take off on patrol straight ahead two hundred yards then holding up four in a row hovering without perceptible vibration banking off again down the sky a piece minutes later returning from their rounds only to pound the beat once more until one shot earthward like feathered lightning catching itself just before it would dash to pieces in the red dust the others followed more leisurely content to end an afternoon patrol

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