JUNE 12, 2021 – Yesterday while sitting on our dock, my wife and I spotted an eagle catching a thermal. I kept my eye on the bird to see how high it would fly, how far it would glide, and ultimately . . . what it would eat for dinner.
Eagles in our neck of the woods are commonplace. They perch along our shoreline, and often while we’re out, they’ll take flight, producing a fleeting moment of majestic beauty. Earlier yesterday, I’d seen an immature eagle (evident by its mottled coloring), every bit as large, however, as its parents. The big bird assumed the profile of a super-patriot’s eagle decal on the back of his pick-up truck—wings spread, landing gear down, talons ready to scoop its prey from the water. On that occasion, however, the fish or duckling escaped. The eagle pulled up its landing gear and flapped its wings for a go-around.
The high-flyer we later saw from the dock gradually made its way in our direction. Its white head and tail feathers flashed in the sun, as it maneuvered powerfully but gracefully for “take-out” fish. I marveled at the eagle’s 20/5, 270-degree vision, which I’d read about, and its daunting size (a seven- to eight-foot wingspan) and speed.
I thought about someone I know who’s a glider pilot. He relies heavily on computer apps and other technology, as well as on years of training and experience and a high-flying brain—he don’t simply let go of the tow line and . . . soar like an eagle. Plus, if things go wrong, he’s got a backup engine and parachute. I’m in awe of his aeronautical skills, but next to that eagle, the glider pilot is merely . . . human.
If the soaring eagle is beautiful, as the adage goes, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, meaning, a human. The eagle itself has no more sense of aesthetics than does a (beautiful) flower or a spectacular sunset. Only humans perceive beauty and are driven to create (“imitate”?) it. The eagle dazzles our perceptions, but its “beautiful” features are strictly utilitarian—essential elements of its survival.
We were awakened to this later in the day when, again seated on the dock, we saw an eagle harass a mother mallard and her duckling. The latter were silhouetted “beautifully” as they moved effortlessly across the water along the “beautiful,” pine-lined shore. If in the human eye, a “beautiful” image formed, the eagle’s appetite had other designs. My wife sided with the ducks. “Go, go, go!” she called out to then, as the hen led her charge to safety while the national emblem went hungry.
The cowering victors caught their breath. The regal loser surged skyward, then down the shore toward another group of ducks off in the distance, while a cautious loon farther out kept tabs. I thought back to the earlier scene—the immature eagle missing its first attempt and starting another.
I knew that in the end, the food chain, not beauty, reigns supreme.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
