In the flash of an eye

The morning of our 25th wedding anniversary, Dave and I walk the along the paths of the Newport Ranch with Pam, our birdwatching guide. I didn't realize I'd booked this, what some may call "unsexy", activity on the actual day of our past's nuptials. We'd talked about cancelling and, instead, heading towards the Avenue of the Giants to walk amidst the titan redwoods who stun the soul with their primordial presence. Centuries old ginormous trees seemed more apropos for celebrating our quarter century milestone, but not a 4 hour round trip drive. So, here we are with the birds and kooky bird lady, with the Pacific Coast looming on one side and swaths of pasture and the edges of redwood forest teasing on the other. Binoculars in hand, we walk, pause, watch and listen.

It is our 3rd morning at the ranch. We'd been observing the European starlings, California quail and black phoebes dot the thirsty brown grass over breakfast and in the hour before sunset, when we cozied up on the porch with our books. (I know, I sound like an expert, but really I'm just an amateur who loves listening to bird calls, using my Merlin app to identify the calls.) As Pam takes us towards the ocean, I feel a little bit disappointed. I thought we would be going into the forest with the moss covered tree trunks and dim splattered light. Living on the ocean, I know pelicans and seagulls like the back of my hand. But, never having booked a birdwatching activity before, I keep my mouth shut and trust our guide.

Wind blowing and waves crashing, we focus our lenses on the iridescent glow of Brandt's cormorants and the bright orange beak of a lone black oyster catcher resting on the rocks. As thick strands of kelp danced on the surface, we spot two seals bobbing in the turbulent, white foam and greenish black swirls of lapping ocean. This sea doesn't remind me of home. This 50 degree water sends chilly breezes up to terra firma from inaccessible beaches. This horizon yawns a fog that can linger for days and days. This palette captures the mood of an Andrew Wyeth painting with its slate, ochre and burnt sienna.

Working our way along the path, we see a Blue Heron stalking in the high grass, its thin, long neck and coloring camouflaged its presence. While the tall bird looks for small prey, a couple of black angus cows lie on their big bellies, expanding the surface area of their mud strewn coats to soak in the sun, peeping through the lifting clouds. After minutes go by observing birds among the pastural setting I'd only seen in Ansel Adam's photographs and Wallace Stegner's prose, Dave and Pam start to talk about the declining otter population and abundance of sea urchins. Listening, but still curious about what I may find, I turn my gaze back towards to the ocean and stop. Proud and mighty, a peregrine falcon perched on the roots of a low lying shrub clinging to a cliff. Yellow beak and feet, black and white checkered chest, his profile commands my vision.

I tell the others, we all get quiet and lock focus on the nearby cliff. With the spotlight on this powerful bird-of-pray, graciously, he holds still. Willing to be our muse or patiently waiting for something, it doesn't matter. We wait with him for as long as we can stand it and start moving again when it feels like we've paused long enough, hoping to find another bird we can add to our list.

Out of nowhere, a blur of black and white makes a dash over our heads and swoops towards the cliff. Our suitor's mate returning. The duo, reconnected, takes flight, together, in a flash, straight shooting towards the opening sky and then falling fast to the shore. We lose them to the below, but, still hoping to see a encore, we hold fast to our lenses. Within minutes, we all admit that once is enough.

Knowing a cosmic gift when I see one, I grab Dave's hand and squeeze. To think, that if I hadn't turned my head just so and found the elusive bird-of-prey, we'd have had no idea what coupling we were witnessing. Or, perhaps if we'd been looking at the ground or on our phones, the sabotaging of zig-zagging feathers could have been missed entirely. Instead, here, with Pam as our witness, we saw a wild pair of majestic raptors reuniting and taking off towards their next adventure.

Now that's sexy.

With deep soul reverence,

St. Sunshine