Fifty or sixty geese set out across the Strait of Juan de Fuca toward Canada while I was watching today. They are flying high up on a strong current, their fluid vee undulating with each set of wing beats. Though I’ve heard small flocks of them arriving at the lagoon for weeks now, this is the first formation I’ve seen this year. I want that sure knowing for myself, a confidence in my direction that requires no maps. I want that steady, elemental pull toward a goal that cannot be denied or deterred. Which of all my dreams is my true north?
Continue reading...16. April 2009
Pieces of sunlight drift by my window as I first open my eyes this morning. Goldfinches are back! Yet I cannot hear them sing. Even the bay is quiet—dead calm, flat waters, slack tide. Barely any bird sings. It’s as if the earth has inhaled and is holding her breath—all anticipation, receptive to the unfurling of spring and the reinvigorating of her body. It’s a pause in the flow of life, a moment to glance backward and forward. Now the trio of ancient firs on the bluff glitters in the morning glow all lit up with sparkly life—goldfinches bouncing along the boughs.
Continue reading...4. April 2009
The sun had punched through dense clouds and my fair-weather friend was airing her wings in the relative warmth. Every year she returns to this spot—I’m glad I have ruby primroses out to greet her—and feed her. One of her favorite rest stops is a slender branch sticking out of the brush at the edge of the woods. From this vantage point she can survey the whole bluff down to the beach and the wide expanse of bay and Strait.
Continue reading...19. March 2009
I admit it. I discriminate against pigeons. I fled city life years ago to live as far away from all things urban as I could. Yet here in my wild paradise lives a flock of pigeons. Other common birds I do revere. I consider migrating geese old friends and welcome them back to the lagoon as they pass through each spring and fall. I’m devoted to the many crows who live here, and they’re certainly ubiquitous and not at all exotic. (Though a wise friend once reminded me that there are no ordinary crows.)
Continue reading...27. February 2009
Late winter noon: slack tide, brilliant sun flashing off the water. An eagle glides in lazy circles above the Strait, around and around, spiraling ever higher, its grace dissolving into a speck, until it melds with the bright blue sky. I know it’s there, ascending, but my eyes can no longer distinguish the shape from its element—bird and air are one. I pull ever-larger volumes of this air into my lungs, as if I might draw into my own body some of this alchemy. As if I might magically lift off from earth with as much ease, as if I might soar as high and also vanish into rarefied strata of light and prayer.
Continue reading...20. February 2009
This is how my afternoon went yesterday. A much-needed beach walk for my dog and I in the late day sun. It took a long time for the fog to dissolve today, so our walk was put on hold while we played chicken with the light. (If I wait too late, the sun will slip behind the hills, leaving me in the shadows.) But today, today was just glorious! Still. Mild. Beach empty except for gulls and a pair of cormorants drying their wings on the old pilings. (When I say empty, I’m really talking of dogs and other people…of course every beach is teeming with wildlife seen and unseen…crabs, seaweeds and limpets to name just a few here.)
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17. April 2009
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