"No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings." ~ William BlakeI was about a mile down the trail when a woman approached, wearing a "California State Parks" jacket.
"Did you see the bald eagle?" she asked, her binoculars in hand.
I never bring my binoculars on my walks anymore. I prefer my Nature the natural way - up close and personal. Why I took the binoculars this morning, I really couldn't say, but in my rush out the door, I just knew I had to grab them.
She was also in a rush. She said she had never been to Oregon, and she had to check out of her hotel soon. But she had heard there were eagles here, so she had made a special stop.
And sure enough, even without binoculars, there it was, quietly sitting on a branch. From the stark jaggedness of where it perched, one might think it was a vulture.
I have seen the eagles before, but not every day. When they fly above my head, it is always a miracle. My life is filled with miracles lately, and eagles seem to follow.
And then the woman had to run. I asked her if she had seen the forest. "No."
My sacred forest is a magical place, somewhat like the entrance into Narnia. It doesn't look like much at first until you wander in. It was not something to be missed, even for 5 minutes. And so she hastened off, eager to stop by the forest, leaving me alone.
This time I needed binoculars. Yes, there it was. The eagle. Still as could be. Always distinctive, always impressive, the white contrasting with the black, without a doubt an eagle. I could have stood there and enjoyed that view for hours. Nothing moved.
I shifted my view to the nest. I had seen it many times, far too distant to make out any real details. But I had my binoculars today. I had listened...
And to my surprise, there it was. The baby eagle appeared in the nest, staying safely inside, yet tentatively stretching out and testing its beautiful wings. It was a kind of an awakening, as if easing into knowing just what wings are for. My eyes filled with tears, understanding...
And then I saw her, on a branch below, yet another. "Are You My Mother?" came to mind, a favorite long ago. Was she guarding? Or showing the way? When would her baby fly?
The moment was sacred, as if frozen in time, until I thought to reach for my camera. By the time I had it ready, the baby was suddenly up on a branch. How did it get there? Did it walk? Did it climb? Did it jump? Or did it Fly? The mother knows...
|Look closely....yes, there are 3...this is the best my little phone could do...yet perfect.|
Photo Copyright Susan Larison Danz, 2014