They were loud, busy with each other, and completely indifferent to me, and watching them I remembered that kinship with the living world happens at this scale or not at all.
Thank you for your living, loving words, Jeffrey. I was walking a familiar path, mind intent on leaving the forest & entering the small meadow. Then Nighthawk flushed feet from my feet, long brown wings flapping silently up and over the hill, startling me & stopping me in my tracks. I studied the forest floor of fir needles & twigs and there they were, not 6 feet off the trail, vulnerable and sacred, two perfect ovals mottled grey-brown, eggs pregnant with hope on the earthen floor. I uttered a soft "Oh" exclamation once, then twice, awed and heart-full with wonder. I spent brief moments that felt like time stopped. I took a photo, then I backed away into the forest to give the mother space to return. I felt gifted and I shared this gift in telling others, including the land steward who promptly closed the trail. I was reminded of other Nighthawk blessings in my life, some bittersweet. I will carry these two eggs and their mother with me long into my days.
What a gift you have handed back to me here. Nighthawk stopped you the way the frogs stopped me, and you gave her exactly what the moment asked for, your awe, your soft Oh, and then your backing away so she could return. What moves me most is what you did next. You told the land steward, and the trail closed, and now those two mottled eggs have both a mother and a boundary. Your delight became their protection, which is the part of this relationship my post gestured toward. Thank you for sharing this experience with me. I will carry the image of those two perfect ovals on the fir needles for a long while.
Thank you for your living, loving words, Jeffrey. I was walking a familiar path, mind intent on leaving the forest & entering the small meadow. Then Nighthawk flushed feet from my feet, long brown wings flapping silently up and over the hill, startling me & stopping me in my tracks. I studied the forest floor of fir needles & twigs and there they were, not 6 feet off the trail, vulnerable and sacred, two perfect ovals mottled grey-brown, eggs pregnant with hope on the earthen floor. I uttered a soft "Oh" exclamation once, then twice, awed and heart-full with wonder. I spent brief moments that felt like time stopped. I took a photo, then I backed away into the forest to give the mother space to return. I felt gifted and I shared this gift in telling others, including the land steward who promptly closed the trail. I was reminded of other Nighthawk blessings in my life, some bittersweet. I will carry these two eggs and their mother with me long into my days.
What a gift you have handed back to me here. Nighthawk stopped you the way the frogs stopped me, and you gave her exactly what the moment asked for, your awe, your soft Oh, and then your backing away so she could return. What moves me most is what you did next. You told the land steward, and the trail closed, and now those two mottled eggs have both a mother and a boundary. Your delight became their protection, which is the part of this relationship my post gestured toward. Thank you for sharing this experience with me. I will carry the image of those two perfect ovals on the fir needles for a long while.