The Eagle

October 12, 2018

The Eagle

By Alfred Lord Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.

As I sit at my desk today an eagle lands in a tree not too far from my window. Well it looks pretty far through my camera lens, however. You get the idea! My eagle clasps the branch not a crag in our part of the world. And if you look carefully, there is blue in the sky behind him.

My wrinkled sea happens to be the St. Croix River and he is watching from the tree tops not a mountain wall. I wonder what he sees from up there with his incredible vision. He certainly has a commanding view of the river valley below. What is he watching for? A fish perhaps or is it a mouse or a muskrat crawling along the shore. I’m sure he’s checking out what he might have for dinner. With all of the rain recently the fall foliage is a little lacking in color and brightness but he sits and waits. Head swiveling to be sure to catch all of the views.

The thunderbolt only falls when he has his prey in sight and he is ready to strike. I love watching him from the safety of my desk chair but I would not want to be looking up and seeing that thunderbolt hurtling in my direction.

Kids Say the Darndest Things
Battle Tribe

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