Do over.

Like the moment the puppy is dropped from the grip of a hawk, no: like the moment he lands after falling and finally shakes off the shock and looks around. And like the red barn he sees, smoke rising from the hayloft, the air around him still smoldering with the ash of cattle. Mostly, though, like the hawk perched in the tree considering what comes next.

Do over? Yes. I've been eating crackers in bed at my own discretion.  All of the ads I see are for shoes I want. If this is America, why am I so tired?