She wasn't a turkey vulture, stiff black and dirty-white wings making a wiggle-waggling, zig-zag track in the buffeting wind at low altitude.

She was high, high up above the ridges of the hills, yet still large and sleek-shiney black, imposing like a stealth jet, black and bright like a new stretch limo, motionless yet in motion, strong flight motion like the jet liners that leave long white trails.

Silent, She left no trail in the deep-deep blue, just a black, glittery streak in the memory of my mind's eye that will never, never be forgotten! For this Ash Wednesday 2006 I saw my first California Condor flying up Arroyo Grande Creek, just below the dam, flying toward Lake Lopez in a cloudless sky.

Graphic is from a Bolivian weaving of Condors.