Just after crossing Dickey Bridge at the Elk River this morning, an eagle, close enough to reach out and touch, swooped toward our truck. Well, maybe not quite that close, but I could see the division of the feathers along his wings and the light glinting off the shiny brownish yellow of his beak. He was flying west along the riverbank across a field of freshly planted corn. It was still early enough in the morning that the sun was a melting glob of butter against the blue, cloud-streaked sky and dew lit up the green pastures like diamonds.
He, and I say “he” but it could have just as easily been a “she,” rowed his way toward a place where the Elk takes a sharp meander, his wide wings slicing huge swaths of air, as methodical as a scythe in orchard grass, commanding land and sky. As he shrank in the distance, a second eagle burst from a treetop to join my eagle in a short ritual of flight, for moments gliding concentrically above a common area of trees, before disappearing into the thick canopy of leaves.
It was a dance of sorts, those two eagles, a celebration of return, equal parts joy and relief, the closest thing to a welcoming hug they could manage. I have no doubt they shared a nest and in that nest were a couple of hungry fledglings, screaming in anticipation of a breakfast of trout or squirrel. It hasn’t been an easy spring for the pair, there on the banks of the Elk. The heavy rains and strong winds of an unusually grumpy spring presented its challenges and there were many cold and rainy days and nights when their warm bodies were the only buffer between their eaglets’ life and death. And where they could usually depend on dry ground to land and hunt, the angry brown water of a river out of banks swirled below them.
I’m happy for them that this is a good day. The chilly May morning has settled into a comfortable warmth and a short reprieve has shouldered its way in between the spring storms that the west side of the country insists on sending our way every week. Maybe the young eagles will take their first short flight today. Or maybe their stomachs will be so full that they will wait another day or two. Hey, that’s just part of the freedom of being an eagle.
And they can’t know how thankful I am for the sixty seconds those majestic creatures shared with me this morning. They have no earthly idea how high that little happenstance I witnessed this morning will allow me to soar. Each and every time I think about it.
