'Uncle Ali's birds' by Sumitra Shankar

 

We loved going to the desert with Uncle Ali’s falcon.  How that bird soared!  Necks craning, eyes smarting, we were sure he wouldn’t return.  But then Uncle Ali would whistle, and the bird would land on his arm.  It always amazed us.  There was something about Uncle Ali – some roguish charm that was irresistible, even to birds of prey.  On the way home, my brothers asleep in the back seat, he would wink.  He’d pull over and take me, just me, behind the big rock.  I would look far into the blinding sky imagining that I was the falcon soaring high.  Soon enough, he would whistle, and it would be time to land.