Bald Eagles and sisters...

My sister, fondly known as "Dicy," died too young of cancer. Dicy was the funny sister. A bit rebellious, she was the darling of the family in many ways. She was kind, overly generous, and always ready to make someone laugh. She loved nature, and had a special fondness for large birds of prey. The last day I spent with her, we rode in her boat around Merrymeeting Bay and she pointed out the nests of Bald Eagles and Osprey. The birds delighted her. At the time her head was bald from chemo therapy, but her spirit was intact.

Several weeks later she left this earth, and while I grieved, my head was peppered with images of eagles and osprey. A short time late, I moved to Maine, (a move that felt so right!) I walked outside one day and heard a strange noise. It was the call of a large bird of prey. I stood in my new yard, late for work, listening to the sound coming closer and closer. It came from the lake, across the trees and meadow, towards me. And then I saw it, a young Eagle, flying my way. It landed in the uppermost branches of a tree across the street from my driveway, and sat there, staring in my direction calling and calling and calling. All the little hairs on the nape of my neck stood at attention.

Two years later my remaining sisters and I went on our first ever kayak trip together. We paddled from a large pond, through a boggy area, down a river and out to a smaller pond. We laughed and talked as we paddled past herons and other water fowl. At a huge granite outcropping we beached our red kayaks and clambered out. We swam in the warm water and each of us was joyful... almost complete. The only thing we lacked was our missing sister.

When we finally climbed up on the sun-warmed rock, I fashioned a small wreath from the stems of flowers growing in cracks on the granite face. The youngest sister, I plucked a silver hair from my head and wove it through the green stems. My older sisters followed suit. Our completed circle of stems and plucked hairs was rather lovely. We paused a moment, each in memory of the sister lost, then together we flung the wreath upon the water.

Long seconds passed as we were lost in thought. The sister-wreath bobbed on small waves. Our reveries were shattered by the haunting call of an eagle... winging towards us though the impossibly blue sky. It circled the rock we stood upon, dark wings, white head, chilling voice. For one wonderful moment we were four again, sisters united.

Loon calls broke our magic spell. The three of us remaining sisters paddled back, the setting sun at our backs, feeling oddly complete.