A few years back I was seated on my back porch watching a warm autumn afternoon fold into vivid plum reds and oranges. I finished my beer and stood to head back into the kitchen when, from a darkening horizon, a quickly expanding mass came gliding into my yard, landing a few feet from where I stood. Even in the remaining dim light, I could see it was a massive hawk. The large bird waddled on its legs for a few seconds, then stopped, gave me a nod and spoke. What it said I will not repeat verbatim, but it spoke of a near future where I would meet my fate and find accession. Since that night and my meeting with the winged auger, I have been known as hawkshorizon.