In that long ago somewhere very near this place he'd watched a falcon fall down the long blue wall of the mountain and break with the keel of its breastbone the midmost from a flight of cranes and take it to the river below all gangly and wrecked and trailing its loose and blowsy plumage in the still autumn air.
(Interesting side note: I was working at the Barnes and Noble in Santa Barbara when Oprah came in and bought her copy of The Road, prompting us to stock up on it in anticipation of the subsequent Book Club influx, which happened two months later.)
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