Tag Archives: bald eagle

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SOLC Day 23: Tuning in

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March 2025 SOLC–Day 23
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The sound pulls me out of my notebook. Is that a bird call of sorts or a bird rebuke? Do I need to fill the feeders?

I tune in. The Carolina wren doesn’t disappoint, releasing its buoyant call, and seemingly within moments, bird song erupts from all over the yard. It crescendos and soon there is a full chorus of song. A burst of trills and calls before the sun has even cleared the horizon. This joyous morning spring chorus never fails to make me smile.

I take the hint and move outside to fill the feeders, then remain outside to watch the wren. It perches atop the tangle of wisteria vines. Periodically, it tilts its head back and sings, a full feathered vibration from head to tail, its entire body engaged in song making. (Click on the photo if you want to hear its song!)

Every morning I have a front row seat to a free symphony. All I have to do these days is tune in. So I stay outside, in my robe and slippers, and let the bird song wash over me–my shoulders relax and shift downward. The omnipresent weight of stress lightens and drifts away. I listen to the wren, and watch the aerial parade of birds–cardinals, jays, mourning doves, titmice, juncos, chickadees, nuthatches, house finches, and more! Beneath the feeders, the gorgeous russet fox sparrows scratch through the leaf litter. I thrill at the sight of these infrequent visitors.

Then, through the trees, I see a flash of white and a muscular pulse of large wings. Is that an eagle? I walk slowly over to the side yard and Yes! It is! I watch a bald eagle settle into the top of a nearby pine. Standing there, I hear the call of geese, now winging northward, and watch their V fly overhead through a crisscross of overhead branches.

Eventually I wander out back and see a flash of blue. Oh! A bluebird is at the birdhouse. Will he nest? He pokes his head in and out, scoping out its potential. I marvel at his indigo feathers and warm rusty chest.

A quick glance reveals that the eagle departed while I wasn’t watching. Meanwhile, the Carolina wren continues to sing. It’s changed its location, but I can still hear it, and the red bellied woodpecker calls repeatedly from the tall trees in the front yard. I can’t see either of them now amidst the tangle of trunks and branches. Still, the knowledge of their presence, and their song, is a gift. When I take the time to listen.

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A Rewarding Detour

slice-of-life_individualAfter a beautiful hike along some coastal waterways, we were heading home. Kurt was hungry and looking forward to getting some food. I was driving, contemplating which way to go.

I have multiple routes around “town.” There’s the 10 minute take-the-highway efficiency route for speedy errands, or a variety of more meandering routes. My favorite way home takes me on back roads past the Muddy River and then over the Cathance River. There are a few stunning vistas over Merrymeeting Bay along the way. You never know what you might see.

“So, how hungry are you,” I asked, glancing over at Kurt.

“Why?”

“Well, do you care if I go the longer way home?”

“That’s okay,” he said.

“I won’t go the longest way,” I said, “but I would like to check out what’s by the Cathance.”

I took the requisite turn, and we drove along companionably in the late afternoon, quiet and comfortably tired from our afternoon trek.

As we neared a potential detour, I shot another glance at Kurt.

“Sometimes I like to turn and go down by The Muddy from this end, ” I ventured hopefully.

“Go ahead,” Kurt said.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He nodded, and I made the turn happily and continued to chatter, “You know,” I said, “I haven’t seen anything here at all recently except for one lone cormorant. But I figure if I keep coming, I’m bound to see something sometime.”

We crested the hill, and I slowly drove toward the bridge, both of us scanning the landscape. The sun arced from low-lying clouds and the river sparkled. The last vestiges of fall color spotted its banks and reflected warmly in the water. The tree branches shifted and the marsh grasses stirred in the breeze. The bursting cattails arrowed upward. It was beautiful, but there wasn’t a bird in sight. Not on the water. Not in the sky.

“Look!” Kurt whispered urgently, grabbing my arm.

“What!?! Where?” I said, hitting the brakes to stop in the middle of the road, and scanning the water.

“An eagle. Right there!” he pointed.

Sure enough, in a tree by the road, a bald eagle perched on a branch, looking over the river.

“Oh, isn’t he beautiful.”

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I put the car in park right there in the middle of the road (country roads, remember?) and grabbed my camera. Kurt rolled down his window and leaned back out of the way, while I snapped picture after picture.

Then we just sat and admired him for a while.

Sometimes you have to take that detour. Sometimes you have to take it more than once. And sometimes, you might just end up in the right place at the right time.

 

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Savouring the last dawn of 2018

11454297503_e27946e4ff_hWe faced east together, glowing with the light of the rising sun. How many mornings have I stood by the river and watched the sunrise with this eagle companion? Too many to count.

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I snapped a few photos and then turned to gaze at the pebbled clouds and the deep rosy sky. I watched the subtle changes from moment to moment, my camera dangling at my neck. Deliberately, I didn’t reach for it again. For just a few minutes, I didn’t take a photograph. I didn’t scan for a contrast of textures, an interesting reflection, a pattern in the ice. I didn’t wish the eagle would soar across the pinkening horizon. And I didn’t long for a visit from the three bluebirds wintering nearby. I just stood there, as still in my grounded place as the eagle was on his lofty perch. I sought to be content with the what is, rather than yearning for the what might be. I savored the moment on this last day of 2018.

bald eagle and I
patiently await the dawn
morning communion

©M. Hogan, 2018
#haikuforhope

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