The Eagles
As I tremor on my chair due to the side effects of ventolin and choya, I cannot help but wonder if this is how my grandfather feels as he writes tiny numbers on an old envelope in an effort to keep track of his stocks. With shaky hands and terrible vision, he writes, slowly, yet unsteadily, vacillating every now and then as if pen touching paper would lead to catastrophic results.
At 92 years of age, my grandfather is dying, but I’m not in the mood for heavy topics. My mind has wandered a little further out of my house, where I see three raptors soaring in the sky. Are they Oriental Honey Buzzard eagles? My father is knowledgeable enough to confirm this. These eagles spend their winter in SE Asia, and fly to Japan/Siberia during summer.
The trio circle around my estate, like vultures patiently waiting to feed.
And I thought I wasn’t in the mood. Maybe it’s the dreadful mixture of my medication. Maybe there are no birds after all.
