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When Eagles Rest and Words Take Flight
My reflections on finding a new home
When the Wind Carries Change
The Columbia River has a way of pulling me in, almost like it knows how to match the restless rhythm in my head. Even the stillness here isn’t really still — there’s always the distant hum of a passing ship, a low vibration that feels more like a heartbeat than a sound.
Here lately I’ve been caught up watching the bald eagles dance through the treetops. Their dark forms weave effortlessly between the branches, riding the wind like it’s second nature. It was Michael — my husband — who saw them first.
But of course, it was.
He’s always the one who notices the quiet things I miss when my mind is busy spiraling in a thousand directions. He caught a picture of one perched high above us, and when he showed it to me, I looked up and realized … they’d been there for a while. How long? I honestly couldn’t say.
There’s something poetic about their sudden appearance though. Just as we prepare to step into a new chapter, the eagles have made their home in the treetops above us. They roost at night, resting safely while still perched above the currents of smelt that sustain them — waiting for their morning catch.
