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CHAPTER 9: Returning Home for the Summer

The sun is bright and warmth has returned to the village. I look to the South and can see the mountain clearly. The snow line on the mountain is completely gone now and Spring has crept up from the valley. The blue sky extends far into the horizon and the new season is just starting.

I love this time of year. It is a time full of new beginnings and potential. I can’t wait to get back to our summer nest and see my old friends. Only a few patches of snow remain. It is time for nest repair and there is nothing I would rather do right now.

“I am going to the mountain to get our nest ready,” I tell my wife.

“Well, be careful, and watch out for that witch,” she says cautiously. “I have a bad feeling about her, especially after your last encounter a few weeks ago.”

“I will be back in a couple of days,” I reply. As I take to the air, I ponder her words and decide that she just gave me some really good advice. There is nothing better that climbing high and soaring on the wind, so I make my ascent quickly. My wings get tired, and I am surprised how out of shape the winter has made me. Then I remind myself that I am five years old, and not as young as I used to be. Tired or not, this is definitely a day for soaring, even if it kills me.

I am so glad that the Creator made me a magpie. I get to witness the land from a place that few ever get to see. Below is a giant world awaiting investigation and discovery. It is lying open like an interesting book with unlimited pages. Even though there is more than I can ever experience in my lifetime, that won’t stop me from trying.

I finally pump my wings hard enough that I hit the upper air current, and I splay my wing tips out for just the right amount of lift. I start to soar—drifting up and down, letting nature suspend me in one place—isolating me, yet interacting with me at the same time. I am safe here. Nothing can touch me here. I love it here. This is where I do my best thinking.

I ponder the coming season. Nest building, new chicks, actually everything that happens up on the mountain. I am indeed a lucky Magpie.

Finally, I let myself fall from the soar, and glide along the ridge that leads up to the meadow I call home. Landing next to the stream that carries the last of the winter snowmelt to the valleys, I take a long drink of the best snow water there is. Looking around, and confirming that no one is watching, I decide to take a bath, after all it has been almost a year since I have had one and it’s an indulgence I can’t resist. Looking down in the clear water I can see small little trout soaring in their own wind. I guess we all have our own blessings and I contemplate what it is that they can see that I don’t and never will. Lucky fish, I think to myself.

As I am splashing the water through my wing feathers, I am startled by a familiar voice.

“Welcome back, old friend.”

Sitting on a rock just inches away is the oldest squirrel.

“Congratulations,” I laugh. “Not many creatures can sneak up on me. I must be getting old.” I hop up onto the stone next to him, a little shaken. Maybe I am losing my edge.

“It is something that only a squirrel can do,” the old squirrel grins up at me in return. His eyes grow troubled. “I am afraid that we might have quite a problem in the woods, Magpie.”