In relationship

Bald eagles flew about the valley yesterday, so bold and screechy-voiced, so intensely colored dark and white, so full bodied and broad of wing. Then as I walked along Deer Creek I thought of the slender heron, and how I hadn't seen one since perhaps Thanksgiving. I realized I didn't know if they winter here.

I wished I might soon see a heron again. Sure enough, as I approached the bridge where I turn around, there on a rock stood Mr. Heron. He was beautiful, of course, tall and slim and remarkable in his rich but subtle colors. Out of respect, I stopped and did not stare. I saw him, and he saw me, too. I thought his rights to feel safe took precedence over my desire to look at him long.

In the past week the local deer herd has twice taken a time of  afternoon rest in the woods near the back of my house. The first time I saw them there, I had just come home from grocery shopping and did an initial double take, all those big rocks where there had been no rocks. They focused on me, ears and faces, long enough to decide I was no threat. Then, as I moved window to window and looked, I identified seven of them, two with their heads down and eyes closed, the others calmly chewing cud, black trimmed ears twitching here and there, relaxed in the deep layer of leaves. Two youngsters, fawns this past spring, were up and prancing or standing close to their chosen adult.

I am part of a circle of friends, a large extended family, a close and beloved nuclear family. I stand in relationship to many individuals of the human world, yes. Those are not my only relationships, though.

As I experience my place in the natural world, I am conscious of how I stand in relationship to the birds and the deer, the earth worm and wasp, the trees and rocks. If we limit our imaginations to mere human relationship terms, we-- well, limit ourselves. 

The challenge, it seems to me, is to live densely surrounded by the pressing and immediate human world and yet to recognize a deeper, wider, interdependent existence as well.