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The Birds
by Suzanne Gold
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After an frustrating afternoon trying to migrate files
from my old computer to my
new laptop, I was
confused and angry. Consulting the Help menu was no help at all,
and calls to tech
support left me feeling even more discombobulated as the
impatient phone techie
rattled off instructions way too fast for me to jot them
down. Hopelessly resigned
to emailing myself the data in a slew of attachments, I
shut down both machines
and escaped to clear my mind by taking a walk in nature.
As I ambled through a quiet neighborhood toward a bike path that was once
a
railway track, I found
myself thinking black thoughts and tried to lift my spirits
by looking around
for something to appreciate. After many rainy days, the sky was
robin's egg blue and
the air was sweet, and just noticing that made me feel
somewhat better.
Heading toward San Francisco Bay, I climbed the hill beside the abandoned
Southwestern Pacific
Railroad building to the paved trail and turned around for a
moment to take in
the solitary splendor of Mount Tamalpais, "the sleeping lady."
Behind her the sun
was slipping away, tingeing the deepening sky with golden light.
In a nearby oak, a
murder of crows broke out in raucous argument.
Smiling at their amusing cacophony, I walked along to where the scrubby
acacia,
blackberry and anise
plants bordering the track give way to marshland. I stopped to
admire a great egret
soaring overhead as it landed on the uppermost branch of a
redwood tree which
arced downward under the big bird's weight. Its brilliant white
form stood out against
the dusky blue sky, and a full moon shimmered above its
shoulder. The placid
scene softened the tension in my neck and calmed the agitation
in my mind. Tears
of gratitude wetted my cheeks at my good fortune to live in these
glorious surroundings.
Both the egret and I stood stock still, observing each other with pure
regard until
it flew off. I walked
on, and soon heard the flapping of wings above my head as a
night heron swooped
by so near that I felt the air moving to make way for its
descent into the marsh.
A gap in the reeds allowed me a clear view of the blue-grey
bird while still remaining
somewhat hidden. It had a rounder darker charm than the
sleek elegance of
the egret, but it too held my gaze unwaveringly, as if bonding with
me to relieve my funk.
I waited again until my avian companion took flight, calling
out with a squawk
that sounded like, "Walk! Walk! Walk!"
So I did, to the bench where the path meets a curved bridge over a canal.
I sat to
watch as the western
sky turned royal blue and the mountain became a flat black
silhouette against
it. As streaks of clouds turned blood orange, I found myself
wondering if these
birds might have a message for me.
I rose to leave, but stopped when another night heron landed on the utility
wires
just above me. Was
this another bird, or the same one making sure I'd gotten its
communication? The
air grew colder as we contemplated each other.
Soon a couple approached with their young child and dog. "Look," the man
said,
pointing upward, "a
night heron." Although the child babbled and the dog jumped and
barked, the bird stayed
put, its eyes locked on mine. I felt as if we understood each
other's nature and
our mutual connection to the spirit within everything. But that
thought seemed glib
in the power of that moment.
By the time the family moved on, the sky was sapphire and lights twinkled
in the
houses on the distant
hills. When they moved out of earshot, I asked the heron
aloud, "What are you
trying to tell me?"
Again it flew off, crying, "Walk! Walk! Walk!" and I heard a voice inside
urging me
to follow my heart.
"First you walk," it said. "Baby steps. Even if you stumble, you
learn. Then you fly." |
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