Immature Bald Eagle
Lisa and I went for an extra long walk on the benches above the valley bottom. The sun was shining and coats were optional, Lisa opted for, I opted for without. Willow ran rampant, sniffing the air and catching the scent of rodents on her tongue.
She is still mindful of us while on the hunt. Lisa and I walked holding hands, until Lisa told me her hand was getting sweaty. So much for love and romance.
We were looking for birds. I kept an ear out for the first Western Meadowlark, but nothing could be heard. Even the birds were scarce. I thought we could at least drum up a few Woodpeckers; Pilieated, Downey or Three-Toed, but they all stayed hid.
We did see some Eagles soaring, a flight of Chickadees, a peck of Robins and a squadron of ducks on Munn. A young Eagle flew over and checked us out, probably, laughing, watching all the mice run through the grass three feet in front of Willow.
It is hard to say if birds feel sorry or superior watching us stuck to the ground.
Meanwhile, our species consider ourselves the smart ones. We are seemingly born without a way to navigate the environment. We don’t have sharp teeth or a thick coat of fur. The only way we survive is through our nature to be cruel to the earth and every other living thing we encounter. If there is a God we are proof he makes mistakes.
But I can’t ponder that shit for too long.
I size up snags thinking the stars would look good behind them and wonder of Lisa’s hand is dry enough to hold again.
Very fine day.