Eaglet
The mother in me took you in.
You know, the mother is that ancient stirring drawn down by the eons. The same way in antiquity she watches a bleary horizon centuries ago and tens of billions of horizons before that, letting go of her angst only when she sees the faint speck of silhouettes as the hunters return home.
Tho I am human and you are great baby bird, I took you in.
My prayerful fold of protection and eternal hope of spring for you nests a place in my heart and I celebrate. My nest is strong. Strong like Saman Tree with arms that reach the ground and back again to sky. Earth helps me be sturdy and reminds me to be kind and patient. About nearly all things I know I cannot turn in these ways—no change, no better, no fixin’, no. Except my heart. I make it to be big. I can turn my heart to be big each day, especially when I forget it somewhere in those minutes of passing hours. I return again to a big heart. And then I return again.
hTe mother in me worries ’bout you.
No big worries, just small size pangs.
Windy nights, thunderstorms, cold spring temperatures. Other raptors in your land size your situation up. They sway in the branches and atop poles and even though they are far away, they plan their flight near the river that your nest lays claim to, in the high tree top just beyond. With their raptor eyes and raptor ears they watch. They are ready. And the hunt is on when the timing is right.
Nature’s way. I belong to that same nature. Just like you great eaglet. We lean into the same winds, the same rains and changing temperatures. We beware the predators because our lands are full. And nature is full, too. A truly divine miracle to live if even for these breaths we take just now.
A soaring in my heart.
I return to an empty nest this morning. There, I had to see for myself that you were gone. And with tears upon my face, the mother in me breathes and knows—
Lifted up is your branching and fledging. Lifted up where your wings are long and strong. Lifted up as a fold into nature, you are a prayer runner among the sacred and soar forever more. Your body did feed the coyotes, your blood did pas-ture green. There’s a soaring in my heart. I call it joy. I call it sad. I thank you for your honor.
Now your spirit flies onward, beyond river and high tree tops to God our eternal. Our Creator. And with all, our King.
