January 2012
January 2012
44 Sandhill Cranes
Walking is a way that I connect with the world. Sometimes I’m summoned to unglue fingertips from keyboard, and focus on life beyond the monitor.
Recently I set off down Circle Drive, hearing raucous calls of Sandhill cranes fishing in the shallows of Merritt Lake. I ran back to share them with housemate Traci, who was MIA.
Not wanting to miss the show, I ran back up the hill. Flush with excitement and perspiration, I rounded the turn and saw them profiled in waning light behind Pampas Grass. Slender silhouettes on long legs, and graceful disjointed movements, they were fishing and visiting in the calm of dusk, surrounded by gaggles of geese and wood ducks.
I tried five times to count them, eyes squinted to discern between shadow and bird. They were elegant, proud and otherworldly; communicating in distinct two-tone guttural prehistoric tones. How I wished I knew what they meant.
Slowly, stealthily I crept through the space between an abandoned cottage under construction, and the shore. Often pausing I resumed my count, until I was certain: there were 44! They looked at me. I looked at them. They wondered what I would do. I was curious about them too.
Unconsciously my right foot advanced, triggering a simultaneous raising of eighty-eight feathered limbs. Together they reached for the twilight, squawking a warning - of me- and departing into the western sky. Finally I breathed, realizing I was leaking, mouth stone dry from hanging ajar. The wind began to stir. It was one of the most sacred sights I’ve seen.
“Thank you, come again. Happy fishing,” I sighed. I swear they answered in their cries. They circled over the lake across the street. Slowed, toes dangling, then retracted landing gear for a go around again; deciding Lake Metamora too crowded to land. They moved on in an uneven V toward Hadley-Metamora State Park for the eve.
The next day my Prius drove itself from the Lapeer Farmer’s Market past the road home. The Park was deserted, boat launch empty, sand on the beach unnaturally smoothly manicured. Even the echoes of children's adventures had been swept clean.
My legs began to stretch out, and I sensed my Dad, David by my side. He said that he didn’t have long to walk today - something else to do. I asked what it was like being out of a body.
“It’s hard to say,” he explained, and hesitated.
“It’s a bit like these shadows.” My attention was on the shadowy roots of the trees, running under the dirt trail.
Later he said, “It is like this,” and my eyes were blinded by the reflection of the sunlight on the lake surface at noon. “I thought that I was this light, but it was only a reflection of all that I am. The Source, the Sunlight is too bright to view directly.”
He showed me that living things have a physical presence, seen by our eyes. They also have energy bodies, felt when you place your palms on the bark of the trees. Each tree has healing powers. Yet each is unique. It is good to be in nature. It connects you more with things.
He said, “You’ve got a few things to learn, then I’ve got to go.”
“What?” I eagerly wondered.
“You need to manage your emotions. Go this way,” he directed, and I imagined I was a tight rope walker as I navigated a fallen tree over the swampy, drained lake edge that had been a stream.
I exhaled, and walked confidently across, and stepped carefully onto the shore; and promptly sunk up to the top of my high-topped leather Toronto Boots in the muck. There was a sick sucking sound, and a whiff of rotten muck, mixed liberally with other fermented living things.
I did not swear I did not scream, I breathed and said, “Oh, Gosh.” (really) The boots were barely released from the bowels of the earth, but they had emerged: they were coated, brown and terribly nasty.
I walked tenderly up the underbrush as David’s voice said. “Stuff happens. When you don’t over react, you can figure out what to do. Now go this way.”
He directed me to a gully of the shore that was sandy. “Stay to the sandy part, it will support you.” I washed the muck away tenderly. These were my most expensive Dogs, purchased during a Law of attraction Seminar - they were recycled Spanish works of art, with frogs embossed on the bottom. Miraculously, my feet did not get drenched. I was glad for the numerous coatings of leather treatment. They came clean.
David was firm as he directed me further up the path. He explained, “Things are not as important as I thought.” What do you mean I wondered in my mind?
“Many things I did and things that I thought I had to do didn’t matter. It is just begin in the moment. Noticing what is right now.”
This sounded big. I slowed my workout pace, and began to notice my surroundings. I took the fork in the road to the right, a new way, enjoying the vista over the lake. Then I saw them, the Sandhill cranes in the distance.
Long and straight and proud, the forty-four flew with a grace of Oneness. This was being in the moment - a moment I would have missed had I been performing my normal mental gymnastics.
I noticed a lone family on the other shore, the youngest boy was exploring. I could feel the energy of his curiosity. He was totally absorbed as he raced from stone to stick. His older brother followed, somewhat preoccupied. Parents and two dogs soaked in the sunshine and laughter of their surroundings.
My heart began to swell as I realized that I’d lost a Dad, but was still connected to the human family we all always belong to.
Sometime in the middle of this, David's presence departed. It was not sad. There was a wholeness where the hole in my heart had been before.
Later my neighbor Brian was excited as he leapt out onto the grass he manicures for us lovingly. He reported: “Michigan is ahead, but Ohio State keeps coming back from behind. Michigan is the underdog. It's a close game.”
Suddenly I knew the date David had was at the stadium. I could see how packed the space was with bodies pressed between spirits, cheering loudly from the 50-yard line. Or, maybe he was at home with Josh and Mom on the couch where they watched the games. Surprisingly, Mom has become a football aficionado.
Football isn’t my thing, I’m a Peacenik; and I was at peace.
Ellen Waara, Author & Producer, Earthtalk 586-216-9928