Published four years after her death, Emily Dickenson’s poem This is My Letter to the World captures a sense of her chosen personal isolation and her connection with the intimacies of the natural world. This is a time when we need to all explore the realm and the depth of ourselves…soul, body and mind.
Earlier in the day, at the edge of the river and before the weather changed, I was pretty certain, as I have been for days, that there is at least one egg at the nest. Mom is clearly in the nest bowl, her tail raised and resting on her brood patch, while Dad is slightly out of view, but present. None of my photos are crisp, given my inability to zoom extensively, but keep in mind that I make observations of nature and I’m not knowledgeable as a photographer. These are archival in their publication.
Late afternoon…
I stood alone on an embankment, a shelf just above the dark river water and saw the female eagle at 4:00 last evening. I believe that the incubation for, at least, the first egg has begun. Mother was well down into the bowl and then suddenly lifted up and out and straight toward me, suddenly arching down and piercing a duck. All others flew up wildly out of the water while the powerful raptor circled around. She came around to the evening ice and scooped, out of the water, the limp body of the Common Golden Eye. I was stunned at the enormous beauty and power of the experience.
Before returning to the nest, she flew a wide victory circle, clamping her talons around what remained of her trophy.
