This most glorious October weekend started with this beautiful sight:
Yes, for the first time since leaving for college, my sweet Eliza is home for the weekend. The mere sight of her car in the driveway made my heart leap as I drove up Friday afternoon.
Then on Saturday, this:
I caught sight of the baby Eagle as she (he?) made her way across our pond to a favorite perch of her parents. They’ve been residents of our neighborhood for several years, and two Springs ago, nested—and raised two babies—just across a small cove from our back yard. Tim and I spent many months mesmerized by the goings-on of that family, from the harvesting of our newly-planted sod (!) to line their nest, to the first rather terrifying flights of both babies. I’ve never witnessed anything quite so spectacular.
We were saddened to watch the demise of the towering pine that held their humongous home, knowing the Eagles would build elsewhere and move on.
(That’s just what happened.)
We still see the parents pretty regularly, but since the new nest is deep in the woods, we are left to wonder—every nesting season—whether there are eagle eggs, if they hatched, and if they survived. So I’m sure you can understand my delight in catching a glimpse of that baby crossing our pond. I saw her (rather amateurishly) land on a long, strong branch just across the way, so I grabbed my camera and ran out the door, headed for the water’s edge.
It was a glorious October afternoon, and we spent a good, long while out there, the baby Eagle and I. While she was completely preoccupied by the ducks and the geese and the turtles and the fish, I think she knew I was there, standing by, holding my breath when she spread her wings to fly.
30 Days of Grace