The night was damp and frosty cold, lit by the silvery half-light of moon and stars, when we heard it. The plaintive whistling calls of wild swans winging their way northward. Bound for the high tundra and their ancient nesting grounds beyond the arctic circle.
Tundra Swans (Whistling Swans), Canadian Geese,
Northern Shoveler Ducks, Red Head Ducks, Mallards, Black Ducks
It is that wondrous time of year when some mysterious force signals the start of the great migrations. The time of year when we are privaleged to witness wave after wave of ducks, geese, swans, raptors, vultures, songbirds and so many others returning to their warm season homes.
Its amazing to think that most of the bright feathered creatures we take for granted as local residents, actually spend
half their lives in the far away jungles of Costa Rica.
The busy little bluebird sitting on your fence may have escaped the jaws of an ocelot, shared the sky with a flock of Macaws, or stared into the eyes of a jaguar.
The oriole at your feeder may have witnessed the antics of monkeys, army ants on the march, the hunt of a hungry margay, or the courtship of the worlds largest eagle.
From little frogs daring the ice, to the birth of a tiny calf, to the daily miracle of hens eggs, I'm so often left in awe. The will to live and procreate, from the largest to the smallest creature demands the risks of finding food and a mate, the difficulties of labor, the protection of young, and even a journey of thousands of miles. Life is truly wondrous and amazing.
Even we are not exempt from the great plan. And yet, we are born with something else too. We are designed with eyes to see, hearts to feel and minds to understand. We have the capacity to soar beyond division, gaze into eternity, love without measure.
The will to live is, and will always be, a necessary and deeply driving force, but in essence the human spirit stands close to a bigger thing. The divine in our nature calling for the next step, the leap off the cliff, the headlong dive, the flight into unity .
Then perhaps we would realize that all of creation is in us and we in it. There is no separation. We are all just flames in the eternal fire of the Mystery.
This night the wild swans rest among the cornfields on quietly lapping puddles and ponds. Beacons of white beneath the moon and stars. Soon they will be on their way again, off into the currents and eddies of the sky lands. Winging their way northward, braving the risks. Diving headlong into life. Into the fire. Into the wide open arms of the One Great Mystery.
Peace, Love, Blessings . . .