This morning I watched Stella swoop down from one of the trees, wings stretched wide as she dropped toward the puddle. Within seconds she had caught a fish and lifted back into the air as though it had all been effortless.
It still amazes me.
Yesterday both Stella and Stanley were especially active. They flew through the puddle several times, landed to hunt, perched in the trees, and for a while they were both resting high above the water at the same time.
What surprises me most isn’t their behavior anymore.
It’s mine.
Without even thinking about it, I now look toward the trees. My eyes catch movement where they never would have before. Sometimes I notice a silhouette on a branch. Other times I catch the sweep of wings as one of them leaves the tree and glides toward the water.
Maybe they have always lived this way.
Maybe this year’s water, fish, and changing conditions have made this little puddle especially worthwhile.
I honestly don’t know.
I also know I haven’t changed where they choose to be.
But I would be lying if I said they haven’t changed me.
I have found so much happiness and gratitude in simply being allowed to witness this season of their lives while I am living this season of mine.
Perhaps that is one of nature’s quietest gifts.
Sometimes nothing around us changes at all.
We simply become the kind of person who finally notices.
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