Ella missed Lijah most of all. For the few months after the fire, Ella never lost hope that she’d see him again. She’d stop short whenever she spied a slim black man walking along the road or standing in a crowd. Her breath would hitch when she thought she’d spotted him in an open field, or in the forest, or standing along the shoreline. It was never Lijah. But every time they saw an eagle soar overhead they’d turn to each other and smile as they thought about The Watcher who’d come to a remote outpost in the middle of nowhere to help injured creatures heal.
Brady drew near and his tension from carrying the powerful bird was palpable. Their eyes met—student and teacher—and Harris nodded his readiness. Then he reached out to carefully secure the eagle’s powerful feet into his gloved hands. The eagle flinched at the transition, stretching out its immense talons and jerking back its gleaming wings. Harris maintained a firm hold and soon brought the massive bird under control. He remained still, gentling the bird, waiting until the cluster of people spread out to form a circle around him.
When the group settled and quiet was restored, he signaled Brady. The boy stepped closer to reach out and remove the leather hood from the eagle’s head. Instantly, the bald eagle reared back against his chest. Her yellow eyes shone from the ponderous white head like fierce beacons over her mighty yellow beak. She’d come to the clinic near death and covered with maggots, the victim of barbiturate poisoning. They’d worked long hours with her and she was one of their successes. Now look at her, he thought, his own eyes shining. Her black feathers were gleaming over a substantial body. She was a fine specimen, strong and fierce. She was able and eager to fly, to fight the good fight once again.
Looking at her, Harris felt again the old, familiar urge to blend spirits with the bird in these final few moments before flight. For so long he’d despaired of ever making the link. The dark, murky shadows of his past had impaired his vision, allowing him limited sight of himself and the world around him. He’d believed that only a rare shaman held the secret to a true connection with birds of prey.
It was Lijah who had taught him that all living creatures were connected. There wasn’t some great secret to divine, no mystery to ferret out. The lesson was not learned cognitively but intuitively. It wasn’t reasoned with the brain, but felt in the heart. The Garden of Eden was here on earth if only we might open our eyes to see. Harris had tried to communicate only with the birds, but Lijah taught him that he couldn’t separate one creature from another. To communicate with birds was to communicate with all other animals, plants and, most especially, humans. We were all in this together.
Only when he understood this did he open himself at last to love—and compassion, humility, understanding and forgiveness. And ultimately to the sweetest joy and contentment he’d ever known.
A brisk breeze whistled through the trees, bending the tall grasses. Ella turned the collar up along her neck. Brady reached out to smooth back the hair that whisked to his face. Marion grabbed hold of the eagle feather that lifted in the wind. The eagle lifted her snowy head, catching the scent of freedom in the air. Harris breathed deep the communal air and felt the soul-stirring connection.
It was time to send her home.
An expectant hush settled on the group. Harris turned to face the wind. The air was crisp, gusting, challenging. The eagle tensed in his arms, her eyes fierce.
“Godspeed,” he murmured.
Then, with a mighty lift, he opened his arms.
The eagle arched her head forward, stretched out her long, massive wings and sliced the opposing air with the finesse and strength of a master swordsman. Onward, upward, she traveled on her slanted path to freedom. When at last she caught a thermal, the eagle held her black wings in a uniformly straight line. Neither drooping nor flapping, she seemed to defy gravity. Harris’s throat tightened and his chest rose in exhilaration as his spirit flew with her. Together, they soared.
Harris stepped back from the center to join the circle. He wrapped one arm around his wife, the other around his daughter, and holding them close, he lifted his face and kept his eyes skyward.
Author’s Note
How many of us have looked into a brilliant sky and felt our emotions stir at the sight of a hawk, falcon or eagle riding a thermal? Yet few of us know much about them. Birds of prey are found everywhere on earth and have evolved to adapt to a wide range of environments. It is their sensitivity to the environment, however, that makes them the most vulnerable of all bird species. Human interference through loss of habitat, toxins and trauma is by far the greatest cause of their death.
Rehabilitation centers seek to restore injured birds of prey to the wild. Experienced volunteers transport injured or threatened birds to rehabilitation centers where licensed staff members and volunteers work miracles, acting as surgeons, technicians, dietitians, therapists and cleanup committees. The goal of rehabilitation is to heal, then release raptors to the natural environment. Not all of them make it, but those that do will hopefully flourish and breed future generations.
Education and rehabilitation work hand in hand. Grassroots efforts across the country—and the world—are working to preserve habitats and to compensate for the damage done to birds of prey and all wildlife. If you’re interested in supporting these efforts with either your time or a donation, there are rehabilitation centers located in states throughout the country. Or you can contact the SCCBOP at the address below. Your support is greatly appreciated!
South Carolina Center for Birds of Prey
P.O. Box 1247
Awendaw, SC 29402
Acknowledgments
During the writing of SKYWARD I met many devoted, impressive individuals and groups that work tirelessly for the protection and care of our important and threatened natural resource—birds of prey. I am indebted to all. In particular, I would like to thank:
James Elliott, founder and director of the Center for Birds of Prey and indefatigable teacher to us all, and to Franci Krawcke, Grace Gaspar, Stacey Hughes, and Laura Buchta, and Stephen Schabel. A special thank-you to my dear friend Mary Pringle, for serving as my mentor at the center and for sharing countless duties, including the dread mute scrubbing.
I am indebted to Marquetta Goodwine, “Queen Quet,” of the Gullah/Geechee Nation, for graciously offering consultation regarding the Gullah culture and the character Lijah.
The character of Lijah in this story was inspired by the Gullah tradition of the African-American oral historians (griots). The Gullah language is as rich and complex as the culture, and I was fortunate to have the guidance of Queen Quet of the Gullah/Geechee Nation in writing Lijah’s dialogue. However, I have taken the liberty of making substitutions so that the reader will more readily understand the text. Thus, while the dialogue is not pure Gullah, I’ve done my best to convey the unique qualities and rhythm of this significant Lowcountry language.
Several outstanding nurses shared their expertise. I’m grateful to Janet Grossman, Gail Stuart, Therese Killeen, Alexandra Koch, and Eileen Dreyer. Thank you also to Dr. Timothy Assey and Vanessa Ward for assistance with the issue of diabetes. I am well aware of the advances made in juvenile diabetes, and hope the reader takes into account the date of when the book was written and the circumstances of the characters. I made my choices carefully with the assistance of medical professionals.
Heartfelt thanks to SC poet laureate Marjory Wentworth, for allowing me to use her magnificent poem, Contretemps, and to bestselling author and fellow osprey lover, Anne Rivers Siddons, for her endorsement. A big thank you to Angela May for her editing.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0527-7
SKYWARD
Copyright © 2003 by Mary Alice Kruesi
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