Given the opportunity, humans will celebrate anything. For example, Brevard, North Carolina annually celebrates “The White Squirrel Festival” for three days, in honor of the original lucky pair who escaped a carnival truck that overturned in 1949.
You may not be an avid bird watcher or be able to identify each feathered friend that lands in your yard, but odds are, you know a cardinal when you see one. It’s the one bird we think we know, but do we really?
When I was 7, I jumped off the roof of my house with an opened umbrella, convinced I would fly. I didn’t. The ground rushed up, and I crash-landed in a heap, looking like a small, crumpled Mary Poppins peeping out of the bushes. I learned two things that day:
I stared at the last lotus of summer as if it were a dying flame. Right on schedule, the seasons have turned from spring to summer, summer to fall, even though day-to-day life has largely remained unchanged.
It’s when I saw the osprey that everything went truly silent. Perched in solemn stillness on the tip of a blunted branch, the fish-hawk calmly gazed towards the water, looking like a wise old fisherman mentally preparing for the day.