The Osprey
A trio of tawny white tails shuddered nervously as he approached. He slowed, but kept moving. The doe bounded a few feet away from the other two. He nodded politely and ignored them. They kept feeding, and he kept walking. The doe was watchful as the distance between them grew. He picked up the pace.
He'd seen the osprey twice before. Once, when he'd startled it into flying away in a huff, which was annoying, to both of them.
The second time, he spied it hunting. He studied it from the top of the hill overlooking the larger of the two lakes. The osprey soared, wheeled, wheeled again and then dove, slashing at, and missing some lucky fish or turtle, black wings powering it away with only water plants caught in it's talons.
He'd read on a website that for his people, the osprey was a harbinger of bad news. This disturbed him. He didn't want any more bad news. He'd had more than his fair share. He had argued the point thoroughly, with himself, and had been forced to admit that he was, in fact, right.
A flock of starlings zipped through the air, almost like a school of sardines, only their bark brown feathers soaked up the early grey light instead of flickering like silver. The starlings were moving shadows ripped into the morning, shorn of their owners.
He rounded the corner of the larger lake.
They'd both been startled by the other on this, their third meeting. Good things come in threes he thought immediately, and just as quickly he added, but so do deaths. He wasn't sure what seeing the bird meant this time but it worried him, and both he and the osprey were wishing they'd never seen each other this morning, as the bird was again flapping sulkily away from it's prime perch high above the larger of the two lakes.
He kept walking, and saw the other hunting perch the osprey had discovered, and resolved to slow down before he reached it and if it were still there, go another way. He knew that his movements would disturb the hunter if he got too close. He then, promptly, forgot.
He only remembered when the flapping of large wings nearby focused his gaze skyward and he watched the bird fly across the road and over to the other lake. It settled on the drowned tree in the west end of the small lake, and this time he kept an eye on it as he followed the trail northwest around a small hill and then back east toward the lake.
He walked up the path, slowing down briefly as a cottontail rabbit froze itself into a statue, dried grass hanging from its whiskers. He had to tamp down the laugh bubbling up from his belly. He slowed even further and murmured good morning in a soft, polite voice. The rabbit rudely refused to respond and kept watch as he passed, eyes not blinking.
Now the osprey was south of him, and had seemed to miss his approach. He moved slowly, taking his time to reach his meditation space. He wondered what the bird was thinking while it surveyed the surface of the small lake, powdered green gold at the edges. He'd seen the wakes left by the fish in the pond, highlighted by the swirling coating of green and yellow pollen, and knew that the osprey had seen them too.
He coughed then, and the bird dropped from it's perch to snap out it's wings and soar slowly to the east and the safety and relative quiet of the smaller of the two lake, the original morning's hunting grounds.
He walked down to the base of the dead tree, and took some pictures of the blue grey cloud images projected on the reflective center of the water.
He watched a mallard dabble his way from shore to shore, and heard the Canada goose pair that claimed this lake as a nesting site, honk out warnings. More bark than bite as it were, since they were waddling about on a nearby hillside enjoying a field greens breakfast.
The sun was trying to find a way to bless him through the dense cloud cover, and he realized that he'd probably have to head inside to get really warm again. He'd been moving quickly before he saw the osprey and now he was standing still, like he was stuck. And he was. He wouldn't stop wondering what do do with bad omens. If seeing the osprey was a bad omen. Did he even believe in omens? He thought he hadn't but now, faced with the possibility of a bad one, especially at this time, was a bit stressful. He'd also willingly believed that the good omens were positive. He needed to be authentic with himself.
On top of all of that he'd come here for peace. This was not peaceful, this omen business. And this journey was now not worth the cold. He was absolutely regretting not having untied his boots to get his under layer. It would have taken only two minutes more. He hadn't wanted to muddy the stairs. Meanwhile this t-shirt was wet and getting colder by the minute.
Then the osprey flew back. It flew back over the larger lake, over the road, over the smaller lake to perch on the dried oak crowning the highest hill in the park. This was the best vantage point for seeing what the lake dwellers where getting up to. More bad luck.
He watched it, and realized that this bad omen was settling in. It was hunting, and might not move for a while. He started to feel trapped, because he had nowhere to run to. Or turn to. If this was a bad omen, he was pretty sure that he couldn't alter anything now. If it saw him, maybe it would trigger all the bad he was dreading. And now the weight of all those possibilities crashed down upon him like a bag of wet sand and he stood, lulled into breathlessness.
He had tried to breathe fully, but somehow couldn't. Deep in his mind, he discovered a truth or a fear or a prophecy or an omen, that if he left the lake before the osprey did, all the bad things he was afraid of happening would take place.
It was so true it forced it's way to the top of his consciousness, sitting there bloated and smug like a fat caterpillar, this idea. The idea that if he was to move on, to go by, to continue the moment that is his life, all of a sudden, all the good will fly away with the startled osprey. His dreams would be torn apart like the fish he'd found last Monday, head attached, eyes missing, mostly skeleton. He felt so firmly it was true and it made his head hurt.
Blue jays crowded a crow and chucked their hacking laughs at the harried corvid fleeing their beaks. He understood the crow. Surrounded, controlled, completely helpless in the face of a threatening mob. He understood. Shivering and near tears, he knew he couldn't leave.
He's stuck here till the damn bird moves. Or his life as he knows it is over. That's a fact that resonates profoundly in his spirit, and almost as if it has just been sleeping he hears a deep and high and low and shrill voice say, "Move you idiot."
He wipes his eyes and looks around. There was nothing to see, no change. The bird is sitting there, malevolence pulsing from it's stillness. And no one else is there, not even any of the saucy red winged blackbirds that rule this lakeside foliage, nor the beavers with their terrible table manners, nor the otters nor the geese nor the ducks or nor the mergansers. Nothing but him and the preening osprey.
The voice again says, "Move, please. If you move, the bird will move. And then you can not be so cold. Please. Just move. Fear is afraid. When you face it, well. Just see. Now, MOVE!"
Starting, he shakes his head. He is weary of feeling his heart pounding with adrenaline. It's happening to often to be healthy. He refuses to be startled again. For the nth time. Once his heartbeat slows he recognizes the voice for what it is. And his tension begins to dissolve. And the blockages in his heart seem to melt.
And with a knot in his throat and his streaming eyes clenched, he turned toward the osprey, and it's bad luck, and it's punishment, and it's anger, and it's doom and he took a step directly toward it, and opened his eyes. Even though he thought it might have morphed into Godzilla. Even though he had to actually walk the other way to get home. He took a step and opened his eyes.
And all of a sudden, the dueling songbirds grew quiet and the Canada geese grew silent, in that moment of utter pause, the osprey flew away. And the man kept walking toward home, and that morning, the day seemed more vibrant than it had in years.
