If you ever lose heart and the earth seems as distant as stars fading into the noise of your busy mind, know this. That a tiny island exists in the blue hands of the ocean. That a tree grows upright into the salted clouds. That two eagles love each other enough to spend their lives greeting the morning sun together. That two eaglets stand in their nest, gazing at the heavens. Looking down to the forever ground. They eat and sleep and flap their wings. And one day in July, one by one, they will jump into the air. They will know the difference between existing and what is beyond. They will hold onto nothing. The hurricane will come, courage catching their pinions on fire, as they mount the wind, climbing ladders into realms of the invisible.

--T.L. Stokes

Tuesday, September 6, 2011


Over the cathedral the eyes of God fall,
their gold water carrying stars and songs.
The eaglets still carry the night on their backs.
Slowly they stand

and stretch the bone and bouquet
of their wings. My face warms
in the gold light and the language
of their calling.

Alexandra hops and slides across the nest,
wings spread upward. She lifts and lands
on the runway, teeters and wobbles as talons
scrape the old branch.

David watches and imagines himself
far up in the air. He opens and closes
brown sails.

For hours we watch close and invisible.
Words in small lines color the lisping breeze,
and our thoughts loop onto snags and the top
of Douglas firs where they hesitate.

I think, and the space enlarges; we wait,
and all things are possible. We do not own
this nest, this place of nature, we are
the guests, the honored ones.

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