A sunny placid December afternoon draws me outdoors. I go into the woods and out to a field and along a wide path where I encounter a boulder. A glacier deposited it 10,000 or so years ago, but it was moved to this spot much more recently by some behemoth of a machine. I clamber up, gaze up, stretch up and pose with my shadow. High in the blue I spy a red tail hawk circling on the wind. I think about yoga teachers encouraging us to feel our bones. What I see above is an effortless skeleton in motion. I close my eyes and spread my bones into wings. A distant rumble interrupts my reverie. The rumble transforms to a piercing whine and roar as a fighter jet races overhead. Its hard metal edges slice compressed air into angry pieces. I hold my ears and watch the silver streak glisten into the horizon until it fades to another rumble. The silent hawk continues to soar above.