In the Morning
In the morning, I focus on what I can see in the dark as I drive to the lake. I see the owls on signposts, hunting by the light of the big, full moon. The time from dawn to sunrise is longer than it was at mid-summer and the colors are growing deeper with the cooler temperatures.
In the morning, I scan the lake and wait for the sunrise. Some days the fog envelopes me and I must listen more than I look. I watch the fog as it rises, swirls, and changes colors. I watch the gulls fly in and out of the fog and hear the kingfisher even when I don’t see her.
In the morning, I watch the sun lift over the treetops and light the water. I turn around to see it light the trees with soft, orange light. The leaves are turning, though the colors are more brown than red or gold due to drought. The colors of fall are enhanced in the light of the rising sun.
In the morning, I watch as the red-bellied woodpeckers, flickers, bluejays, and squirrels get busy picking acorns and stashing them for winter. I marvel at how the stand of oak trees has turned out so many small acorns after three years of difficult conditions. I wonder how deep their roots are and how far those roots travel.
In the morning, I listen to the bluejays squawk as they race back and forth from the oak trees to some location across the cove where I imagine their winter stash is being filled. I listen to the crows and when I hear them get extra loud I know one of the hawks has passed through.
In the morning, I look for gulls up and down the lake. One morning there were several thousand Franklin’s gulls in the fog, most of them departing to the south before the sun rose over the trees. They have places to go.
In the morning, I wait for shorebirds, hoping they are still biding their time and migrating late. When the fall is dry I often see fewer shorebirds. I imagine they are going around or over to places where more mudflats make better stopovers. One flock of twenty-six avocets did pass through one morning. Though they only landed for a few minutes, they circled past me several times and allowed me to say hello and wish them well. I hope they aren’t the last for the season.
In the morning, I watch the yellow-rumped warblers who move as a flock from tree to tree picking tiny caterpillars from the branches. I watch the dark-eyed juncos, who have finally arrived, as they forage on the ground. Sometimes the bluebirds, titmice, and wrens intermingle with these flocks. If I’m really lucky, maybe I will see a kinglet.
In the evening, it’s easier for my mind to go to what’s missing, what might happen, what I wish were different. In the evening, fears can swirl around me, another form of fog. In the evening, it’s harder to trust the magic that’s right here, right now.
In the evening, I often remind myself that the birds, the trees, and even the caterpillars are still there in the dark. I remind myself that most of the things I fear never come true. I feel for that place inside that trusts no matter what.
In the evening, I call upon the trust the birds have when they take off on their long migration. The trust the birds have that they will find a new source of food tomorrow. That trust that lives in all creatures, so it must live in me. I call upon that trust that whatever happens, I too will find my way.
Then, I close my eyes and whisper a prayer of thanks for the magic that waits in the morning.
May the magic find you this week in ways that soothe your nerves and fill your heart.
Gorgeous photos ❤️😍👍….we need rain too🙏☔️☔️☔️💦💦💦
Gorgeous photos, Karen...but how did that fully stretched flying dove, photobomb those ripples so perfectly in that 'Water Magic' photo? Even turning its head to the camera! Must be magic. xo