Eagles don't worry about what they are doing a week from now

I often learn a lot from nature. Especially when I am sitting in silence and simply observing. I walked Washington Park this weekend - this lovely park/campground overlooking Rosario Strait and Allen Island outside of Anacortes. Madrona trees, cedar, spruce and maples of various types fill the park right down to the rocky cliffs that meet the water. Wildflowers sprinkle the rocky outcroppings in the spring but this time of year, the yarrow is just a ground cover along with the moss and dead grass stalks.
There were gale force winds out on the Strait of Juan de Fuca just south of the park. Rosario Strait opens up to the larger Juan de Fuca and the winds were blowing the clouds apart. Sunlight in the northwest reveals what the color green really looks like in its many hues - and the walk through the park was glorious in color and sound.
Part of my own ritual of walking this park takes me out to the furthest sw point of the park. My daughter and I named it Eagle Point a few years back due to the eagle that flew right over our heads as we stood there. I mean, literally, right over our heads. The point is reached by a slippery goat trail that traverses along the rocks and low growing ground cover riding just above the cliffs that fall away to the water's edge. There is no beach here, just the drop into about thirty feet of water filled with seaweed and kelp. So, sitting out on the point means sharing the space with scrubby pines that have spent years taking the brunt of the winds off of the water. But what a view. Water, earth, wind and sun. The tide was going out of Burrows Bay. The driftwood trees that are quite common in the water this time of year were passing by my point at nice clip - at least a couple of knots. I watched the gusts of wind come across the water and then could feel the cold snap across my face. Aamzing.
I went out there to think. To sit and listen and just be. To lose myself in the moment of experience and find myself underneath the layers of worries and distractions. I can't hold on to checklists, responsibilities, expectations or judgments when I sit in such a place. The wind is too loud, roaring through the trees; the sky is too brilliant as clouds race across the sky. And suddenly, to my heart's delight, an eagle swoops into sight, coming out of the trees behind me, and begins his own dance over the water.

I bet he isn't worrying about what next month will bring.

The eagle glided over the water, rose up and then dropped down only to rise again. I watched him as he moved across the channel and became lost against the trees of Allen Island. Not lost - the eagle knew exactly where he was in that moment. And so did I. Feeling lost means that I have a destination that I can't find my way to. But life isn't about knowing what lies ahead - its about living this moment and allowing this moment to lead me to the next. And when I have my eyes so clearly set on searching the horizon - I miss what is right before me.
My own story makes it hard for me to stay grounded in this place. Survival instincts tell me that I need a strong flashlight in order to see into the shadows ahead. There isn't a light bright enough to reveal the mysteries of the future - but tell that to the part of me that is very small and scared. And I do. Tell her. And I take her hand in mine.

No one is lost, we're just enjoying what this moment is right now. I can circle aimlessly all I want - I am safe and warm with amazing support and love in my life.

And for my little inner girl child, I lean down and whisper: and yes, you shall have your garden this year.