Doug and his helpers headed to his cabin like a procession of native bearers in a jungle movie. Soon I was going to have to think about setting up tonight’s reading, which was Oscar’s, and which would surely present its own challenges. The remainder of Ken Spinner’s workshop students would have to be parceled out among other instructors. Tony needed to be reminded about the sign-up sheet for the student reading. And half a dozen other things, all of them very urgent, which would be of absolutely no importance this time next week.

I was wearing down, losing altitude. There had been too many personalities on display, too much gossip and drama. More than anything, I wanted some time by myself. It was an irony that, in the middle of the great forest, the authentic wilderness, there was so little privacy available.

I started out at the swimming beach, intending to follow the river upstream. But there was no path, only thick scrub growth and ankle-busting gullies I couldn’t cross. I turned farther away from the river, aware that I was doing something mildly dangerous, and this was how people got lost, but I couldn’t quite convince myself to be worried. Everything sloped down to the river and the conference grounds. If I got too turned around, I knew all I’d have to do was roll myself downhill.

I could still hear the river behind me, at least at first. I found what looked like a trail and followed it uphill for a bit, then came out into an open clearing that looked like it must have been used by other people. A flattened log had been rolled to one side and a couple of tree stumps had been pushed into place to make an outdoor living room. There was even a crumpled beer can and a cellophane wrapper for some kind of snack food. So much for my unspoiled wilderness retreat.

I sat on the log and caught my breath. The day was warm, and I’d worked up a sweat, and of course I’d headed out without water or a compass or a whistle or any of the recommended gear. I was on my stupid own. I don’t know how long I was looking straight in front of me, looking without real comprehension, before I saw the hawk staring back at me.

It was perched on a dead stump on the other side of the clearing, not fifteen feet away. A large bird, probably a red-tailed, though I decided that later. Brown above, white and streaked below. It wasn’t doing anything else besides regarding me, and whether it was frightened or curious or indifferent or sizing me up for food, I couldn’t tell. It only had its one hawk face, fierce and intelligent.