When One Eagle Becomes Nine
A November Lesson in Simply Showing Up
I’ve been pondering insight from John O’Donohue, a teacher who shapes my life. His wisdom this week that grabbed me is: “We need to recover contradiction as a creative force within the soul.”
Sometimes play means simply showing up—becoming both the witness and the witnessed. On this November Sunday, with a hundred must-dos hovering like winter clouds, I chose instead to follow my Labradors' brisk afternoon delight from our Ski Hill Trail walk—pause, notice, and happiness in what is.
The first 15 minutes when light from the treetops captured my eye I kept stopping. My housemate and Labrador’s were patient in the cold, as I ohh’d! and ahh’d!
Later, nearing sunset, when I saw eagles hunting and heard them calling in the 36-degree November air from my deck, I ran upstairs, slung my Canon over my shoulder, quietly made my way to the Kenai River, joining one eagle alongside the river shore, and slowly I noticed the one became three, then five, then seven, then nine. As quiet as possible, listening, my camera eye tracking upriver to treetops, and downriver, noticing shapes, movement. Perhaps I become the camera—delineating light, lens, focal point, shutter speed. Breathing in sync and unified oneness. Inhale, exhale, be.
Like meditation, nature rewards patient presence, dissolving the line between the observer and the observed.
A solitary goldeneye duck glided through the aquamarine waters of the slowing Kenai River, seemingly unfazed by the gathering above in tree branches, though I believe everyone knew who was in the field—each of us both watcher and watched in this riverside theatre, including grandfather and grandmother trees, and saplings kicking their roots into the soil. Perhaps squirrel, rabbit, cat, and mouse harbored amongst the foliage. Maybe a moose hunkered in the woods.
A paddling of goldeneyes was further upriver, and I kept my eye on them to see where they would drift. Two goldeneyes joined the solitary adventurer, drifting down river towards the Soldotna bridge, amidst watching eyes. I observed one eagle riverside, as I joined its vigil. Lyrics reverberated from a Dave Alvin song that has recently captured my attention, when Alvin sings in his throaty voice,
“It's an eagle that circles above me
And he screams to his friends on the hill
‘Stay close together, move not a feather
Man walks among us, be still, be still
Man walks among us, be still.’”
Yet, in this sanctuary place, we all coexist. Aware. Present. Still together.
Moments after my camera battery died in the cold, my fingertips already so white and numb, the eagle on the riverbank took flight. The photo I’d sought now only in my mind’s eye, nested in my heart. I simply gazed. Returning to the warmth of the lodge, while the evening sky shimmered with light, warmth returned to my extremities, my soul already oh so full of wonder and awe. “Sweet Jesus” (and not in a mawkish way) oh, “Sweet Jesus, this is beautiful.”
In Alaska, though outwardly numb from the cold, the waning light of November gifts us these moments of perfect stillness, when it’s so much easier to “open the present” and my heart and soul soar in essence—camera, eagles, witness (visible and invisible) all become one dance of presence.
May we each become a designated witness in the life we are given, the life we choose.
Reflect – take a pause, and write for 90 seconds on each of these, then share in the comments.
Where do you find unexpected moments of play in your day?
What happens when you choose presence over your "must-do" list?
How does nature invite you to slow down and notice?
When can you next give yourself permission to simply witness something beautiful unfold?
🦅 How does nature invite you to slow down and notice?
My unexpected moments of play are when I load up my dogs and head for a walk in the hills. Or sometimes just a walk up to the park with praise music playing on my earbuds. I always feel calm, relaxed, at peace with the Lord when I choose presence over all the things needing to be tended to. I love to notice the small details in nature and, marvel at the beauty of God’s creation.