Eagles: The Eagle's Nest

The day was perfect for taking photographs. It was clear and bright with only an occasional, snow white cloud floating by. The ocean had the same intense, blue hue as the sky.

A tall, gray-haired man with a mustache walked with a distinct limp towards the ocean. He almost fell, as he stumbled on a rock that lay hidden in the tall grass. Reaching out, he caught the heavy mesh fence on the embankment, just in time.

The man was appropriately dressed for a photography expedition, in a pale gray t-shirt, blue jeans and white runners. Around his neck, he wore a heavy, gold chain with an eagle, its wings outstretched as if in flight. His long, black camera strap reached almost to his waist. He held his digital camera with both hands, as he readied himself to take pictures.

First, he snapped a photograph of the distant horizon. Then gazing upwards searching the sky, the sun’s rays bounced off his face. Eagles soaring high in the sky soon caught his attention. He watched them for a moment and then began taking one photograph after another, as they circled the area.

“They’re heading into those trees,” he realized. “There must be an eagle’s nest nearby.”

A winding, footpath led towards the heavily forested area. The brush in the area was overgrown and the evergreen trees were huge making it a foreboding and dark, but mysteriously inviting area. As he walked past an empty bench into the forest, he spotted a petite, elderly woman, standing alone beneath a large, overhanging branch. She was holding a pair of huge binoculars.

“Do you want to see the eagle’s nest?” she asked him, as he approached. She quickly handed him her binoculars and pointed to a tree.

“Thank you,” he said. He soon spotted the eagle sitting in its nest on a large branch about thirty feet upwards. “I do appreciate that.” He began taking pictures of the eagle's nest. “Here, let me take a photograph for you, too,” he said, as he realized that the woman was not able to focus her camera on the eagle’s nest. “See, there it is,” he said with a smile, as he pointed to the nest in the photograph he had just taken for her. 

Encounter at Daybreak: A New Friend

“Never again,” Becky, a young woman in her early twenties, said. Completely disillusioned, she sat alone, on a wooden, park bench beside the lake, waiting for dawn to break. It had been a long night. There was not a soul in sight. Even the sounds of early morning had not yet begun to resound. 

Becky knew that shortly, the sun would burst through the total darkness and create a blazoning trail of light, right across the lake.

“If only I could walk that trail.” She knew that would not make things right. This time there was nothing that could fix what had been broken. “I need a friend,” she realized. “The only thing I could do was end that relationship, permanently. It's probably the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do, but I did it.”

Just then, she heard a crackling sound. She turned, but saw no one. 

“I must be imagining things,” she thought. 

Suddenly, she jumped, as something cold and wet, brushed against her leg. Looking down, she spotted a tiny puppy. Its huge, brown eyes caught her attention immediately. The pup was wet, muddy and bedraggled looking, as it tried to snuggle up against her. 

“You poor little pup!” she said, as she picked him up. He was shivering. She held him tight, pulled off her scarf and wrapped him in it. “Where on earth did you come from?”

At that same moment, the sun made its regularly scheduled appearance.

“I don’t know who owns you or where you came from, but from now on, you are Sunny, to me,” she said, carefully checking the pup for any signs of identification. There was nothing.

Telephoning the Humane Society, later that morning, Becky learned that someone not wanting to keep a large litter of pups, had dropped them off right beside the lake. Several other people had found young pups there, too.

“Now you are mine, Sunny,” Becky said, as she cleaned him up. “I’m glad you don’t have anyone. Now, we have each other. I’ll get you checked over and you’ll need some shots, but from now on, we’re together.”

Forgotten: Stroke

“Son, call me if Grandpa has problems,” Ruth told Ned, her five-year old son, as she left for work. Normally, her father was fine with Ned helping him. 

“Young man, I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know,” John, his grandfather said, as Ned watched him trying to tie his shoelaces.

“He’s grumpy this morning,” thought Ned. “I know, Grandpa, but if you tie your shoelaces like that, you won’t be able to walk. Let me help you.” He knelt down, untied his grandfather’s shoelaces and re-tied them properly.

“I taught you how to tie yours,” said John, sternly.

Ned knew this was not one of Grandpa’s better days. “Grandpa,” said Ned, when he saw his grandfather take a package of chicken noodle soup mix down from the shelf. “May we have cereal for breakfast?”

John put the soup mix back. “The cereal bowls have disappeared again,” said John. He was searching for them in the spoon drawer.

“I found them,” replied Ned, smiling, as he took them out of the cupboard. “Bring two spoons.”

John dug in the freezer to find milk for their cereal.  

“It’s already on the table, Grandpa. Bring some berries.”

Ned knew there was something wrong.

“I’m tired,” John said. He sat down, awkwardly. His hands shook, as he began to slump forward.  

“I’ll feed you,” Ned offered. His grandfather shoved him away. Everything on the table flew across the room.

“Leave me alone,” John said, as he slipped off the chair and fell to the floor. 

“911, I need someone to help my Grandpa!” Ned had not forgotten how to call  911 for help.

“Mommy, I can’t wake Grandpa up,” Ned told his mother on the phone, several moments later. “He fell on the floor. I already called 911.”

“Good work, son,” a paramedic told him when they arrived. “We got here just in time. Your Grandpa will be fine.” 

“I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know,” John told Ned again, as he left in the ambulance.

“I know, Grandpa,” said Ned tearfully, as his mother hugged him tightly.

A Country Mile: Under the Bridge

It was a humid August day with not a cloud in the sky.

“It is hot!” said Monica, a teenage girl from the city. “Monty, can we go swimming? I brought my bathing suit.”   

“Sure!” said Monty, a tall, country boy, one of her friends from high school. “Bring your straw hat though!” Monty was excited about spending time with Monica. He knew that going for a swim would be perfect on a hot day. “For that, I would walk a country mile!” 

“What’s a country mile, Monty?” she asked, several minutes later, as they walked hand-in-hand down the dusty gravel road and up a long hill. “A mile is a mile. That’s five thousand, two hundred and eighty feet, right?”

“Right.”

“How far is it?” Monica asked, after they had walked up a second hill.

“It’s a ways yet,” replied Monty. “It’s nice to spend time together.”

“We must have walked at least a mile, Monty,” said Monica, a while later. She was not used to walking on gravel and stones. “Can we rest?”

“Sure! Let’s go sit under the bridge and soak our feet,” he replied, smiling at her. The place where they would go for a swim was still another mile further. Monty helped Monica climb down the sharp rocks. They splashed cool, fresh water on their faces. Then, Monty took off his shirt and spread it out on a large rock.

“That was sweet, of you!” she said, with surprise. “Thank you.”

“It is cooler here,” he said. “Feel better?”

“Much.”

Now, Monty was getting nervous. His hands felt cold and clammy, as he reached into his back pocket for something and clutched it tight. “Monica,” he said. “There is something I have wanted to ask you for a long time.” He took her hand gently and placed a black diamond ring, on her finger. “Would you go steady with me?” 

“This country mile was longer than I expected,” Monica told him later, as she admired her ring. “But, I am glad we decided to go swimming.” 

Heart Breaker: Broken Wing

From the moment Zoey was born, he was a heart breaker. He was a beautiful baby who everyone fell in love with immediately. But, Zoey would not acknowledge that love. Perhaps he just could not respond to it and thus, he distanced himself from everyone, right from the moment of birth.

“There are those among us who cannot accept love from others. We don’t always know why,” their doctor said. “They cannot give love to others, either.”

Zoey’s parents waited, only to find he did not babble like normal babies; nor did he use single words, or later on, two word phrases. Zoey’s parents and siblings were heartbroken not understanding what they did wrong before he was born.

“It may be autism,” one pediatrician suggested. “Sometimes, there is just too much pain,” he said. “The child internalizes that pain and cannot get past it. It hurts too much.”

Zoey had gone through a difficult birth. Were there other genetic or environmental factors involved? No one knew for sure. Alcohol, drugs and nicotine were not part of their normal family lifestyle.  

Even at five years of age Zoey, still distanced himself.

“Have you tried pet therapy?” a teacher asked.

“What kind of pet?” they wondered. No one seemed to have any answers.

Early one morning, Zoe walked out into the front yard. A baby robin had fallen out of its nest. As Zoey picked it up, it squirmed in pain. Its wing was broken. 

Zoey’s mother stood there amazed, as he brought it close to his face. Big tears welled up in his eyes. This was the most emotion he had ever shown for anything.

Somehow, Zoey instinctively knew what to do. Where he learned to splint a baby robin’s wing, no one knew, but that is exactly what he did using a branch and a shoelace. He picked handfuls of twigs and grass to build a nest. He spent hours looking for fish worms for it. He built a birdbath and played with the baby robin, splashing it gently with water, day after day. 

Then came the day when the baby robin was ready to fly.

“Bye, little birdie,” said Zoey.

“Is he an autistic savant?” his pediatrician asked, later.

“I only know he is a heart breaker,” replied his mother.

The Sparrow: The Tornado

“His eye is on the sparrow.” (1) The words and music of this song written by Civilla D. Martin and Charles H. Gabriel in 1905, echoed through Rachel’s mind, as she headed to town for her first guitar lesson. While waiting for the bus, she enjoyed the birds serenading one another. “And I know he watches me.” (2)

Rachel felt a twinge of delight watching one bird flitting in and out of tree branches. “You are beautiful! God, how can you watch over every sparrow?” Suddenly, the bird flew away. In fact, all of the birds disappeared and it became strangely silent.

“They heard my bus coming.” 

Seconds later, she spotted a narrow, funnel-shaped cloud, with dust and debris at its base, heading towards her.  

Rachel froze. “My God, that’s a tornado!” The tornado moved erratically. As it came closer, its dark funnel dropped to the ground like a hungry vacuum relentlessly devouring everything in sight. Its distant roar increased in intensity. “God, show me what to do!”

“Run!” her inner voice said. “Get under the bridge.” There were no other options.

“Can I outrun this tornado?” Rachel dropped everything and ran for her life. Sand and gravel pelted her, as she slid down the steep embankment. She grabbed one of the huge beams and hung on, as tree branches and other debris flew by. It seemed like forever, but the loud roar ended almost as quickly as it began.

“His eye is on the sparrow,” went through Rachel’s mind, as she spotted a bird perched on a beam.

“We are safe," she assured the sparrow. “My guitar?”

She headed home, not knowing what to expect. Half a mile from home, she found her battered guitar case beside the road. Inside, her guitar was unscathed. Fortunately, Rachel’s home was still standing. 

Rachel moved on in life to become a gospel singer.

“And I know He watches me,” she sang, at almost every concert.

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/His_Eye_Is_on_the_Sparrow

2. Ibid.

The Fire: The Forest Fire

Heavy, acrid smoke lingered in the air, as Grant, a soft-spoken man, his wife, Marcy and their children ate breakfast. Suddenly, the phone rang.

"God help us all,” prayed Grant, almost dropping the phone on the kitchen counter. “We have to leave, right now,” he said. “Children, grab your jackets and runners, quickly!”

He beckoned his wife towards the door. Her face became pale, as she realized they had just received an immediate evacuation notice from the local fire department.

“The chief says we’re in imminent danger, so there’s no time to waste. The highway will be closed, shortly.”  

“Don’t panic, Grant," said Marcy. "We've got everything we need in order to spend a few days at the evacuation center. We knew it could happen today. This forest fire has been running rampant.” 

“I hoped it would never happen to us.”

Gazing at the raging inferno growing on the distant horizon, they knew it was only a matter of hours before their home, as well as everything they owned, would probably go up in smoke. The wind was picking up too, carrying black smoke that made breathing difficult.

“Grab your wallet and my purse,” ordered Marcy. “Yesterday, I packed enough food, clothing and bedding for all of us in the car.”

“My fire fighting gear and fire extinguisher are in the trunk, too.”

He took one last look at their four-bedroom home located in the massive stand of fir trees, as his wife, children and their pup, jumped into the car.

“We built this home with our own hands, God. Please let it be standing, when we come back. Keep the highway open, too.”

“Seat belts, everyone!”

Loud sirens resounded as they drove down the steep, mountain slope into town. Dozens of people were already at the evacuation center.

“I love you,” he said to his wife and frightened children. “Stay safe.”

“It’s going to be a long day,” thought Grant, joining the growing group of firefighters, gathered at the fire hall. 

“I have fought many forest fires, but never one to save my own home.”