Yes, that's a notably bad pun, but it's an apt one: I finished a chapter I seem to have been working on for a lifetime (on flash and black photographers in the 30s, 40s and 50s), and am ready to move on to the next - a half-written, a quarter in bits, a quarter still to be researched one - on flash and newspapers and crime. So I was hard at work, in beautiful silence, all day, to be rewarded, as I drove down the driveway at dusk, by a huge, heavy hawk flying just in front of me.
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