Ozarks 11.5.03: Young Eagles and Wild Roses

Just back from a long (3 hours) walk in the country at our cabin. Few wildflowers still in bloom—a bit of penstemon, potato or false dandelion, and the phlox that just won’t quit.

But the big find: up right as we reached the chimney rocks, a crop of wild roses, faint pink, single, and very fragrant. White rose on Mother’s Day if your mother has died, red if she’s alive. These are more white than red.

And, curiously, when we got back and I opened my computer case, there was my mother’s obituary, laminated, with the prayer of St. Francis on it. Don’t know where it comes from or how it happens to be there. May she rest in God’s merciful arms.

But strangest of all, as we got to the chimney rocks, we overheard three eagles, young but nearing full growth, riding the drifts of wind on this beautiful late-spring day as if it were a game. They were so golden, with their wings spread, and magnificent enough to strike just a bit of terror into me. I wonder if they’re the same three we saw on our first visit here, younger then?

This is a place for the spirit to soar, given to us by Kat and perhaps by my mother. Kat’s Three Eagles?