He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

From The Eagle by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Until recently, I have not been a fan of eagles. I think I associated them with my father’s emphatic mantra, “You can’t fly with the eagles if you hoot with the owls.”

I wasn’t sure I even wanted to fly with the eagles – their sharp, hooked beaks and talons looked very scary! Rather, I loved the reassuring sound of owls hooting in the stillness of the night (even though they are birds of prey, like eagles, but I didn’t know that then). I wanted to hoot, too, but alas, that was not permitted as long as I lived under my father’s roof.

P.S. I finally finished the watercolor of our Akita, Kimmie. Please see my August 26th updated post.