Visit From an Aerie

Hours later, on the same day of the intersecting lines of refracted sunlight: As yet, no writing inspiration for current manuscript, but I'm not the least bit discouraged. That's because, moments ago, a bald eagle flew into my day---into the pine tree not twenty yards from here---so close I didn't need binoculars.

A bald eagle! It landed on a bare branch midway up the tree. It folded its wings with some effort. It settled. It surveyed. It stepped sideways along the branch to a slightly higher perch, still relatively low. It tore at the bark of the branch with its enormous, and I do mean enormous, yellow beak. I heard the beak raking across the branch---saw bits of bark falling to the ground. I didn't breathe. It spread its wings and hopped to a higher more open place on the branch in the sun. I had an unobstructed view of its lean white head, its broad brown shoulders, its thick feathery legs, its massive yellow talons. From there it peered around in all directions for long moments.

Presently, it crouched and leaned forward. It opened its wings to a full spread, then lifted off and away, in no hurry. I could see its ragged belly feathers, could hear its wing feathers rattle against each other, could see its yellow claws hanging in limbo. As it crossed in front of me its pure white tail flashed in the sun.

A mesmerizing visit. A soul-stirring exit. A fine trade for writing inspiration on this day.

Coincidentally, my home writing office on the top floor of my house is named "The Aerie," after an aunt's college campus office which she called "The Eagle's Nest." That same aunt is the model for the quirky Aunt Viney in the story I'm here to revise. dkm