Fly Like An Eagle

I cock my head, peer into the distance, and hope the words will come. Where are they?

Nature doesn’t respond, and it’s certain then; my creative juices have dried up and are in an empty jug floating away to sea.

Legs outstretched, food digesting, my daughter and her grandmother are gardening. It’s just me. For what this moment is not, there’s much that it is; freshly laid bark and limbs chockfull of magnolias, lime greens, and dark burgundies from ground cover and the evergreens. And a swallow that sings louder than all the others.

I am holding my breath so I take a long, deep refreshing one and feel myself let go.

A school year is coming to an end, and as it does, there is the welcoming of transitions and new beginnings.

Earlier, an eagle and an osprey flew like synchronized kites, pirouetting and zigzagging above the lake. Their choreography was beautiful yet erratic, and when the eagle broke into a dive, I understood. “Oh, a fish!” I pointed, seeing it drop from the sky like a little parachute. The eagle put the pedal to the floor as the osprey exited the stage left. I held my breath for a second, maybe two, then the giant bird of prey caught it. Of course, it did.

The night drew to a close with propane heated deck conversation along with a Costco apple pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert.

That’s it for now. I hope you had a lovely Sunday. Love, Jaclynn

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