I am on vacation. My family and I leave the ancient foothills once a year and bring our hillbilly holler to the very edge of the Great White North. I love it here. This place has a primordial expansiveness that is at the same time terrifying and calls to the fearless feral woman in my spirit.
This morning I watched an Osprey stalk fish. The hunt included a serious if well practiced maneuvers, and must have expended a great amount of energy. One successful dive resulted in a catch too large for the raptor to manage. The wind did not turn in its favor. The bird worked skillfully for several seconds, until it was clear that this was not the fish for its breakfast. As the prey was released the wind turned and the Osprey rose, repositioned itself, and dove again. This dive resulted in a fish just the right size and a fortuitous breeze. As the large bird flapped back to the nest it occurred to me that the fish’s last day is only the Osprey’s breakfast.
A life and death morning meal played out thousands of times in water that circulates the entire planet. And this ole river keeps on rollin’.
People disagreeing on all just about everything, yeah,
Makes you stop and all wonder why.
Why only yesterday I saw somebody on the street
Who just couldn’t help but cry.
Oh, this ol’ river keeps on rollin’, though,
No matter what gets in the way and which way the wind does blow,
And as long as it does I’ll just sit here
And watch the river flow. ~Bob Dylan