I believe my father came for a visit yesterday. Now if I tell you he passed away many years ago will you think less of me?
Glancing out of my window, I was quite surprised to see a large eagle balancing on a rather thin branch. Oh, it was an eagle...I'm sure of that. His head was white with brown speckles, as were his massive wings. A pale yellow breast and bright yellow legs completed his primary coloring. His familiar-shaped head twitched in fits and starts. The narrow branch rocked back and forth, yet he seemed to be balanced and at ease on this pendulum.
Now, I don't know why, but I whispered, "Dad?" I startled myself with this utterance and thought, "Holy Toledo, what is wrong with me?" Certainly not one for ghosts and never having had any type of spiritual awakening, I felt my heart pounding as I contemplated this occurrence Why in the world was I staring at an eagle in my Connecticut condo complex? Why had my Dad come to mind? And, how was this large creature secure on such a twig?
My dad was a special man. (I'll leave it at that.) I miss him terribly, and the holidays are difficult without him. I see him carving the turkey, laughing and winging pieces as he gestured with knife in hand. I see him leaving for the choir, clad in his red and white robe, handsome as always and looking forward to midnight Mass. Was my subconscious triggered somehow, or is there validity in the stories of people being nurtured by their beloved great aunt formed in a Monarch butterfly flitting in a garden? I suppose it really doesn't matter.
So, Happy Thanksgiving Dad, and Merry Christmas to you.
Stop by anytime.
[I did a rather exhausting search for this particular bird and found nothing that fit.]