Through my window,
past the bars glistening with the drops of rain just fallen,
past the rosemary bush with teeny–tiny icicles hanging off the fragrant sprigs,
out past the path not trodden on (except for me and Chuck, my dog, at night),
with the small soft puddles reflecting the clearness of the sky,
past the green, fresh-smelling, hilly forest,
out over the slightly snow-peaked mountains,

flies an eagle.




He soars, looking, searching, never losing faith, always hoping –
He's looking for Ella.
Ella was supposed to be his bride,
21 weeks ago.
THEY found her, took her away.
She didn’t quite make it.
He knows, in his heart,
But still, his mind refuses to agree, to accept.

I watch as he gets excited, disappointed, upset, hopeful.
He will never let go.




The sun starts to climb higher.
He flees before it.
If THEY, they who took Ella,
see him, he's finished, and he knows it.
THEY checked her.
She wasn’t sending off the smell
you do during mating season.

THEY knew, and were looking for him.
He wasn’t hiding, though.
He was waiting for Ella,
who went off hunting,
21 weeks ago.

Ella, who won't come back.







I sometimes wish I could
go to him, comfort him,
tell him officially – Ella's gone.
Pat him on the back.
But I can't.

I, too, have started hoping, wishing,
thinking there's a glimmer of a chance
that Ella will come back.
I wish she would.




Suddenly, I hear a low moaning noise,
like that of a creature in pain,
echoing around the hills.
Chuck jumps,
I follow.
The eagle picks his head up, watchful.

We splash the puddles,
No longer reflecting,
Now just mud.
We trip over the bush,
as we run.
We fear THEY've got there,
We fear the worst,
And run faster.




We get there.
THEY don’t make it.
The eagle,
afraid for another creature, attacks.
THEY are running now.
We are looking,
and we find.
We hit gold, and I hurt,
because the state of our find is poor.

I try, and succeed.
The creature is cured.
It begins to fly, to soar, and stops.
It's spied the eagle.
Both hover, still.
Then both plunge.
Chuck and I cry.
Ella's come back, back to her eagle-groom,
and now I know
why he'd always been hopeful, wishing,
and now he's got his bride back,
after 21 weeks.

And I'm happy.




We head back, Chuck and I.
The sun is still climbing.
But the eagle isn’t afraid.

We avoid the puddles,
now reflecting the sun.
We set the rosemary bush right.

And I look through my window again,
wipe the frost away.
I watch as the slightly snow-peaked mountains
get blocked from view, by two happy eagles.
Ella is back,
she is a bride,
like she was
21 weeks ago.

Esther Arram
This is to certify that the above work is completely original.