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A Metaphor for Mothering resubmit What do you do when your falcon has flown, and you haven seen him for days? Well, you literally have [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/]Jordans For Sale[/url][/b] to go fly a kite.

I look at my muddy boots on the dash and think maybe I better put [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/air-jordan-10-bulls-over-broadway-shoe-155.html]Jordan 10 Bulls[/url][/b] them on the floor and give my friend truck a bit of a wipe down. That is, if I can find a towel in the back seat, among the clementines, lowfat lemon cookies, 1950 industrialsized thermos of coffee, toolbox, books on weathering menopause with humor, muddy parkas, a couple of ginormous leather purses, and the day planner stuffed with quotes, pictures of family, weekly menus, and doodles.

I speak into the borrowed cell phone to a man I haven yet met in person who, based on a number of onthefly phone calls, seems a likely candidate for a cup of coffee in a location mutually convenient to the two of us. friend has this really big, yellow kite that she used to train her falcon to fly and return to her.

When she first got the bird, she basically hung pigeon parts from the kite string. The idea is that the hungry falcon, seeing easy [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/air-jordan-11-retro-legend-blue-columbia-shoe-25.html]air jordan 11 legend blue[/url][/b] prey hanging in the air, attacks the meat, which slides down to the ground on this pulley thing downrigger.

The bird follows the meat, and while he eating, she secures the bird by clipping his jesses to her leather glove. This easy kill is actually a pleasure for the bird, so whenever he sees the kite, he thinks mother, and then food, and will come home when he been flying free. We hoping he does that now. Do you really think he come back? The voice is doubtful, sympathetic, and maybe thinking I not his type. tell her I hope she gets her bird back. We all in agreement on this one, but I not ready to say it out loud before she does.

is sending you good wishes, Jamie. We staying hopeful, Tim. Oh! We at the field have to go now. He surprises me by telling me to call him back again, at a time when we can both sit down and talk for awhile. Maybe he just being nice, but he a welcome change from previous experiences.

Jaime pulls off the road, onto a corn field bordering a small paddock, where half [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/]Air Jordan[/url][/b] a dozen horses hang their shaggy heads over a small fence, vaguely curious about the two middleaged women bundled up in blazeorange and pink.

The kite has been flying since noon. We going to take it down to fly it in another field. The bait, pigeon wings, dangles 100 feet up, swaying gently in the pale blue winter sky, untouched by even an opportunist red tail hawk. The kite itself is another 500 feet above the carrion. The kite is down in five minutes with the help of bicycle brakes, a metal spool, several gears, and a power drill. The contraption is then taken apart, the kite [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/]Cheap Jordans[/url][/b] folded and slid into a plastic sleeve, and both are hauled back to the truck. The pigeon wings are stowed in a sports bag, with bloody gloves, lines and clips, and a wellused towel that had a Mexican motif in a former life. These wings will be used to bait the kite again in the next field, about fifteen miles distant.

The truck rolls and bumps its way into the larger, longer alfalfa field, empty save for an abandoned car and a power line around which Jamie has to negotiate the kite flight. It rises higher and higher from the ground breezes, to the steadier winds, in air currents up 500, then 800 feet. Halfwitch, Jaime seems to know the wind the same way her falcon would, gliding, lifting, and gently tugging at the nylon line.

Finally, the kite hangs almost out of sight, the bait is attached, and we return to the car, pausing only to listen for the imagined jingle of belled jesses (A jess is a short strap with a ring for attaching a leash, fastened around one of the legs of the trained [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/air-jordan-xx9-shoes-16/]air jordan xx9 for sale[/url][/b] bird of prey).

Later, we sit silent in the truck cab watching the sun melt into horizon like sherbet in a spoon. The sky is vast as Superior, the field secret and dark with a hint of distant spring. The pigeon wings bob gently, inviting, but the distant line of trees shows no life. We far enough out of the cities that there no horizon glow, and a handful of land stars cluster to our south from the nearest township.

saw an owl the other day when I was setting up here, she blows on her coffee and gazes through the windshield. She sounds worried. falcon hasn had time to fully [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/air-jordan-11-shoes-4/]jordan 11 for sale[/url][/b] recover from his foot injuries. He may have pulled off his bells. But with the bandages and duct tape on his legs just don know. It had been 40 degrees that afternoon, but this is January, and still Minnesota. We hasten to take down the rig, fingertips smarting and legs chilled hard through blue jeans sufficient only for the afternoon sun. The mud breaks and crunches under our boots as we cross the alfalfa field.

More coffee and the fading tang of clementine soften the dark chill of the truck cab. Wheels hum on rough bituminous, and the occasional oncoming headlight flashes lightning as we discuss how falconry [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/air-jordan-11-retro-low-bred-shoe-27.html]Air Jordan 11 Retro Low Bred[/url][/b] is a metaphor for mothering, for divorce, sobriety, trust in ourselves as women, finding authenticity in our life work, in our children struggles to grow up, and in our own struggle to let them.

These are the usual concerns of women our age.

We finally arrive at an oasis of fluorescent lights, plentiful gas pumps, half a dozen choices of latte and a warm bathroom at the Stop, Shop Go. [b][url=http://www.airjordanhot.com/jordan-future-shoes-14/]cheap jordan future shoes[/url][/b] Boots are exchanged for street shoes, blaze orange is peeled off to reveal black dress pants, hair is fingercombed and fluffed, and a shimmer of lip gloss is applied. Waiting for us in a North Minneapolis Indian restaurant is a corner table laden with spiced tea, fragrant rice, and sauces rich with curry and vegetables.

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