It is night time now and the snowy landscape dim and crystaline beneath the faint, cold light of a heavy winter sky. The silence is deep, mysterious and palpable with only the distant, haunting calls of great horned owls to break the intense stillness. It is their mating season and in the natural cycle of life the owls pursue the drive to find a partner and join together in the laying of eggs and raising of chicks. In a month or so the songs of foxes and perhaps even wolves will begin as they too search for that special someone who will bond with them in sacred union. There is a perfect love-mate for us all no doubt, I know that I have found mine.
This week a challenge of unexpected intensity and harshness broke into the peace of our lives here on the farm. The day was cold and brittle, a bitter wind knifed its way through fur, hide and feathers. Even the thickest of winter clothing was no deterrent. At minus twenty the temperature was capable of snuffing out life in moments. A combination of wind, swinging gate and primal response brought my husband to the edge of no-return as he he lay broken and helpless on the icy ground, his only means of self preservation a weak call for help.
Lost in the transcendental realms of creative expression, I shaped a swooping red-tailed hawk (my darlings life totem) oblivious to the outside world. Then something intruded, an uneasiness, a feeling that somewhere something was terribly wrong. My spirit jumped back into everyday life, dropping brush and pallet, sensing, listening. Rushing down the stairs and stepping out into the frigid air, I heard the desperate cries. No time for logic or thought, just pick up and run . . . stocking footed through the snow . . . a mad woman flying to save a life, the life of her precious love-mate.
Just in time the life was found and saved,, the man rushed by ambulance to the safety of hospital . . .cold, broken, but still alive . . . sweet gratitude. . . . death evaded . . tears of relief, yes.
Now here we are five days, much pain, and one long reconstructive surgery later . . .still breathing, still loving, with an unfamiliar road of rehab and re-adjustment looming ahead. How does one deal with such things? How does one get through the fear and sense of loss in this or any other life altering situation? Somehow we do, we must . . or what then is the point of our existence . . . . I have to trust that we are being led to something good and pure and honest. Like the inevitable ending of our corporeal lives, these mini deaths seem to give the opportunity for experiencing an expanded awareness and a deeper sense of humility, presence and Love . . . an unexpected awakening to the fragility of life and the divine around and within us all.
My husband has survived, his will to live and the love of friends and family sustaining his battered body and gentle hawk-spirit. Hopefully with time, determination and healing he will spread his wings, lift off, and fly freely once again. Deep gratitude to all who have helped out and blessed us with their kindness and love thus far, We sincerely thank you . . .
Outside in the darkness the wind has picked up, stirring the branches of stiff needled firs and pines and moaning softly around the corners of the old barn. The owls have grown silent, perhaps hunting now, or perhaps hunkered down, feathers fluffed against the icy chill of the night.
As I stand facing the wind and breathing in the cold, white essence of winter it suddenly seems as if all the world is moving with me through this one moment . . . Or maybe, in my newly shaken vulnerability, I am finally moving with it . . .
Peace and Blessings,
NEW POST. . .1/22
Red-hawk painting mentioned above now finished . . .
See 'Seeds of Life' on Paintings 2 page.