The splash is small as though a scalpel sliced sharply
through the surface. In an instant, the
young bald eagle lifts away from the pond’s shore like an F-18 in a steep climb
but as silent as the wind. The little
bass plucked from the pond wriggled slightly as he was lifted toward the aerie
where the eagle nested and would soon enjoy his meal. 
Brown, white and black feathers blended to cover his body let
us know that he hadn’t grown to adulthood when his head and tail feathers would
turn to white and complete his iconic image.
Above the pond the two adults, probably mother and father, watched from
their perch high in the trees left leafless by winter. Occasionally they would fly and soar over the
pond and the tree covered bluffs that surround it. Majestic is the word. Every other adjective falls short when a bald
eagle circles above the feeding fields, swooping through altitude and gauging
his drift when buffeted by icy winds.
That was Sunday. By
Tuesday, their routines were becoming predictable and our hope that they would
become permanent residents soared as their flights came ever closer to our back
door. Tuesday was inauguration day. The quadrennial celebration of
self-government and the peaceful passage of political power was underway in our
nation’s capitol. Here in the heartland
of the country, eagles soared as though their assigned mission was to affirm
freedom and majesty by flying free over a small pond in a typical American
neighborhood.
Speeches were made and opinions rendered. On this day more effort was given to making
the rhetoric aspire to the high beliefs that Americans share and bind us
together leaving the divisive chatter to Wednesday and beyond. History was recalled. In this fiftieth year later, the crowds remembered
the time when the word “dream” soared over the mall that connects the Capitol
to the Lincoln Memorial. In this place, at
the top of the steps and seated in a marble chair, the president whose speeches
still soar centuries after the sound of his voice had dissipated is
honored. As he grew to adulthood and
formed his majestic view of this country’s principles and of its people’s
commitment to high ideals, I wonder if a couple of bald eagles chose to nest
near his office or his home.
Renowned artists sang the songs written to capture the
unique bounty brought together in these times of history, on this continent, by
bringing people from every part of the globe and blending them into being
American. Prayers and poems are always
written and offered. Some have risen to
the challenge of matching the moment and the meaning of the day but many have fallen
like the prey in an eagle’s talons rather than rising into the breezes lifting
his wings.
Now it’s Friday. The
chatter has returned to the din of disagreement. We are arguing again about whether laws aimed
at reducing mass shootings have any chance of passage. The debate about immigrants is parsed into
praise, prejudice and parsimony. Science
is another subject of argument treated as though it will kneel before the
political objectives of powerful people wanting to retain power. The cost of everything is examined and dissected
while the values we share run to hide in the skirts of Mother Liberty. So far the hope that they will come out and
lead us again through to the best result obtainable in a system of, by and for
its people has not perished from this earth.
As Friday tracks through its hours of sunshine, our family
of eagles is hard at work and play. They
walk across the skim of ice that’s formed on the pond after a few nights of
near zero temps and chip at the edges to cut a spot for watchfully waiting for
an unsuspecting prey to swim by. Two
trees have earned their preference as places to rest and watch. Mostly brown youngsters play on the ice and
fly to torment the resting geese and gulls congregating on the far side of the
pond. They look like they are at home.
--td