Summer ended and autumn began with much rain and mist. Yesterday, after what seemed like about two weeks of grey, wet weather, the sun reemerged, and I went out in the afternoon to make the most of it. Imagine my surprise when I looked up into the sky and saw two flocks of birds, flying in lazy circles, soaring against the backdrop of a fat white cloud. I could not think what they could be, though my heart said: Eagles!
I did not think that eagles flew in groups—in this case, two flocks of about eight birds each—though my Birds of the Blue Mountains does say that wedge-tailed eagles hunt singly, in pairs or in small parties. As I watched they moved higher and higher, until they were barely visible, and few other birds, as far as I am aware, fly at such altitude.
I wanted to take a photo, as proof of what I was seeing; or at least to find some binoculars. But the sight was so wondrous, so magical, that I knew I couldn’t waste time running inside to find my camera. I needed to live it, let it wash over me.
I thought to myself, If I had not gone outside, and looked up, I would not have seen this, and felt blessed that I had.
Was what I was seeing unusual? Or something relatively common, just seldom seen, because I have failed to look up and take notice?
Either way, I think perhaps the eagles were enjoying the sunshine just as much as I was, dancing their joy in a newly blue sky.
(I could be wrong, of course. Perhaps they were not eagles at all. But I prefer to believe that they were.)