An Eagle threw a dead carcass of some animal on the ice and feasted. We watched the eagle soar to the trees across the lake, where he joined another Eagle high in the treetops on the other side. The eagles kept flying right over our window, while I lounged around on the sofa and read my book. The bird’s appearance seemed to suddenly be so ordinary that I thought, I’ll grab my camera later and grab a picture. Still, I did call my brother and his family over, and 12 of us passed binoculars from person to person, as we pointed and coached each other to the spots where the Eagles were at this particular second. Soon, both birds left the trees and soared away from the lake.
The next day we hoped to coax the Eagles back to the lake by throwing a ham bone onto the frozen lake. Instead, we attracted the neighborhood dog, and later a couple of other familiar dog faces.
All week, at the lake, I’ve been waiting for the Eagle to come back; the next time I’ll be ready; and I’ll grab my camera.
I look across the stillness of the lake, over the yards at the empty houses, and I miss our summertime neighbors. Yet, when I see a patch of green grass, I can almost hear the rhythms of winter giving way to make room for spring. Then, I remember how I keep forgetting to order my seeds for next summer’s garden.