I spent the morning with an eagle. Majestic, beautiful, he sat upon the top of a post in our vineyard in the rain. Occasionally he would raise his feathers as if to shake off the excess rain, but mostly he sat, looking this way and that, observing all that was around him, as if he were the guardian of the vineyard.
He was not particularly large, so I think he was probably a male, with a white head that was somewhat yellowed, giving the appearance of a young adult, but his appearance was regal, as if he knew exactly who he was and why he was where he was. A sense of awe pervaded as I watched this magnificent creature.
The eyes were small and piercing, ever searching, ever seeing, ever knowing. They were portals to an active mind, intelligent and somewhat thoughtful as they perused the area around. The sharp beak, placed in the middle of this imposing face, spoke of the power this animal possesses. I had to wonder if he ever thought about all that he had, or, was he so gifted that he moved in it quite naturally without the conscious effort that we humans require?
His greatest gift to me this morning came at the very end of his visit. He flew. Majesty and grace unfurled as he circled our pond, beating his wings and soaring higher and higher, and then coming around again as if to give me one final look and a farewell until next time.
I spent the morning with an eagle.