Early this morning, amidst the quiet of this place, I watched a golden eagle hunt a small coot just offshore. I watched as they danced around one another, the eagle diving toward the water while the coot paddled closer to the rocks. The tiny coot diving underneath the surface for 20 seconds at a time, evading the eagle’s talons. The eagle circling back to a tree, waiting and watching.

I’m certain that they were aware of my presence, watching from my deck not 100 yards away. Living here often feels sacred, like I am getting a chance to see and hear things not always meant for my eyes. We’ve made it to mid March and spring is slowly pushing through; the birds have come back to greet the morning, all of them screeching, as they remember what it is to sing. At dawn, the sun stretches itself out over the hillsides, and I can hear the ice cracking inside the trees as it melts. Soon, the shoots of green stirring under the cool earth will make their way to the light and the snow will only remain on the high peaks. Every turn of seasons is a holy opportunity.