My work station in the accounting department is situated right next to the window in the front office. The window faces the road and, beyond that, the air strip stretching out in the airport below. While the downside of a window seat is the January chill emitting off the window and outer walls, the upside is the view of the planes landing and taking off on a daily basis. If one needed a distraction from collection calls and emails, it can be found in flight.
And occasionally, a feathered flyer that will pique our interest more than the Cessnas and other small aircrafts coming and going. Last week, a beautiful hawk perched in a stubby tree overlooking the airport below. The wind ruffled his feathers and we all wondered where he had come from since we hadn’t noticed him visiting any time before. He stayed for an afternoon, no more than that before moving on. But he was a pleasant distraction on a difficult day and I remember him again this week. Emily Dickinson’s poem keeps running through my head, as I picture the wind flaring his feathers against the winter sun.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Right now the word I’m whispering to myself is more along the lines of, “peace, peace, peace” in an attempt to sooth the anxious part of me that grows every day. “Hope,” however, still resonates as it always has. My personality tends to wander more on the pessimistic side of things than anything and during this chaotic period of change (albeit good change!), I have to remind myself of the word “hope” as well as “peace.”
These days (as always during the perpetual stretch between January-February-March), the constancy of winter cold and darkness always seems to steal a bit of that hope and peace. Life has gone into hyper-drive with everything going on, everything changing and shifting and my soul struggles to find the time to adjust to it all, much less embrace peace and hope during it all.
Little moments like these – the sight of a bird ruffling his feathers, stopping to think and breath life into words here, finding myself concentrating on the roll of movement from within my womb…
These moments are gifts of grace, reminders of hope and peace.
And so, I stop. Breathe. Take it in.