I wondered at the possibility that on the day Wil and I had lain together—maybe even at the exact instant my back had arched in love’s ecstasy—this hawk might have returned to her nest to discover it had been robbed, her babies gone. Was it possible that I had been lost in my own elation as the hawk’s disaster struck, just as she was oblivious to my tragedy now?
Maybe this is how nature balances out universal life forces?
