You arose after a sleepless night, but with the life-is-precious energy and ready to go on an adventure to see short-eared owls. The coffee was wonderful, and you sat in the morning light at your table, preparing for the journey south with binoculars.
but then...
something happened.
Your existence, your body, your ability to be were paralyzed. You were humbled and shaken.
Within a period, you regained movement, but were left tired and disappointed for what feels like a lost day.
So, you go with your loved ones on a drive towards the end of the day. No intention other than to appreciate what is left of what the sun touches.
You feel a pull and ask for an early right turn on an unfamiliar road. It brings you to a familiar and beautiful church of white oaks and acorn woodpeckers. You stand in the field for a moment and root into the ground with gratitude. The moist air and golden afternoon sun absorb into your being.
You move onward towards the refuge, on this alternate route that called to you. A pause is taken on the road for a yellow-crowned sparrow and the ambient sound of a blackbird chorus.
As you and yours move again to the right, there is motion – a murmuration of elk. They move in a stream along the path you take. They pause, and their breath turns to mist in the light.
They see you.
After some time of seeing. They move again – like a river. With some ebb and flow, they move over the path, into the meadow, and move as one. A cohesive entity flowing over the rise and fall of the land in cohesion.
You watch with your binoculars as they grow distant.
... and there, next to this river of elk, flies a short-eared owl – like a butterfly startled from the field, easing into a glide.
