|Yes, that is an eagle flying! I know, it's like|
an inkspot here. . . pictures cannot do justice.
|And yes, the eagle is on the tippy top of the tree|
On Sunday morning this week I walked along a trail that skirts the edge of Lake Washington. I stopped at a lovely little park (Lyon Creek Waterfront Preserve), accessible only on foot ( huge NO PARKING signs greet the visitor, although there is one spot marked for Disabled--a nice touch). Walking to the end of a dock that extends into the lake, I sat down to enjoy the serene view. Within seconds, I became enchanted by two eagles overhead, flying, then landing, then taking off again, swooping, gliding and occasionally calling to each other. Sitting quietly on such a beautiful morning in such a lovely setting made me grateful to be alive and to have the use of legs that propel me along walking trails and shopping centers, move to music at the WMCA, push the pedals of my car, climb stairs to my loft where I write, etc. Legs are great, but maybe wings would be better.
No wonder I adore the notion and image of angels; soaring overhead without the need of friction or traction would be a divine way to move through the world. Wings are great, but only, only if I could have arms too. I don't want to be a bird, even one as magnificent as an eagle. I would never trade the pleasure that comes from cradling an infant, cuddling a child, hugging a friend, or embracing a beloved grandchild.