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the path back is the path forward


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faces on a bridge. [k.s. friday]

this darling face was larger than life, a giant print by simon te tai hanging on the wall at our airbnb in charlotte. many times we would find ourselves standing in front of it. it compelled you to do so. is there a “hug-a-sloth” day? we both would like to participate.

other than our sweet dogdog, the next animal face we were close to was the hawk’s.

it was out front in the yard, seemingly enjoying the sprinkler. d watched it out the office window, checking on it while he worked. when he went to turn the sprinkler off and remove the hose from the lawn, it stayed there and watched him. he sent me a photo of it, merely ten feet away, calm and steady. the next time he looked out, it was in the street and in trouble. grabbing a blanket he ran down to it. we have brought other birds to rehab centers so this would not be our first. the hawk was in distress and laid while david talked quietly to it. as he went to gently scoop it up, it flew off, straight up into the tree limbs above.

when i came home d was standing in the middle of the street, staring up, so i knew it had to be something to do with this hawk he had photographed.

there it was. a small raptor perched on a limb 25 feet above us.

we watched it for a while and then thought we should leave it be, believing it must be recuperating from – perhaps – being somehow stunned.

just a bit later, from across the street, at the front door, we watched with horror as this beautiful creature flapped its wings up in the tree and then fell out. grabbing a bin and the blanket we tore out the front door and ran across the street.

i implored him to wait. the eye i could see was closing and i caressed him softly, telling him how grateful the world was for his presence in it, how stunningly beautiful he was.

i don’t know when his tiny spirit floated away.

it was profound for both of us. david wrapped him carefully in a blanket and we placed him in the bin, hopeful that our suspicion was wrong and that it might be possible he was simply unconscious for a bit. but the time went by and each time we checked on him revealed no change. we called all the bird rehabilitation centers.

wisconsin dnr asked us to photograph the hawk. “take as many pictures as you can,” she instructed, “that way we can try to determine what kind of hawk it was and maybe a little information about what might have happened.” there were no obvious signs of injury and we know that the avian flu has been seriously problematic, especially for waterfowl and birds of prey.

his face was truly beautiful. feathers the color of bold coffee and caramel, amber eyes just like dogdog’s, a bit of green above his curled beak. really beautiful.

it’s these two faces of wildlife i will remember this past month.

the face of a sloth – though not three-dimensional – friendly and open, practically begging for a giggly snuggle.

and the face of a hawk – transient, evanescent and spirit-filled – visceral and, quite astoundingly, stroked by our fingertips – a moment we shared we will not forget – when this creature crossed over and we were all one, together. on a mysterious bridge that goes both ways.

BRIDGE from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

*****

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sketch to remember. [d.r. thursday]

sketch

we canoed out to hog island.  it is a bird sanctuary and so we could not get out to walk around the giant rock that it actually is.  seagulls and pelicans, terns and geese congregate on this tiny island and they are protected, their habitat is protected.

each morning, each evening i stand at water’s edge and gaze out on the lake toward little hog island.  i watch as the lake changes, sometimes hourly.  i can hear the birds out on that island, the waterfowl, the screeching seagulls, cranes in the distance.  behind me, david is busy with his sketchbook, drawings passing through his hands, fodder for later paintings.  for me, standing there, lyrics pass through my mind.  i breathe slower and without paper i try to remember them, try to remember the melody that flits through, beckoning me to follow it.  i jot it all down once inside, fodder for later songs.

we walk usually every day.  sometimes in the morning, sometimes at night.  we take the same path that leads us about three miles, watching the woods as they change.  there is a place we pass, fenced in and covered with some kind of netting, a low building in the distance.  two months ago, we had no idea what it was all for.  but as time has passed, the pheasants have grown and now we can see them in the enclosed area.  they are protected.  for now.  because we understand that they soon will be released.  as soon as the dnr hunting season starts.  i stand, staring at them through the woods, through the fence and i breathe slower, tears starting.  it is hard for me to have walked this way every day now, knowing they are right there, peeping and crowing, growing, unaware.  not knowing, i imagine the worst – like ‘the hunger games‘ – release them and then chase them down.  it makes me shudder.

a bird sanctuary.  a bird farm.  the juxtaposition is like the lake – fickle and hard to understand.  one minute serene and calm and protected, the next churned up with irregular-rhythm-waves that batter the shore, dangerous and unprotected.

i wish that the pheasants were on hog island instead of around the block.

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SKETCH ©️ 2019 david robinson