I set out early this morning in the Jeep, windows down, air cold on my face, but fleeced as I was to the chin and buttoned, the wind across my bald head seemed almost warm. It was a good ride, spring everywhere flaunting itself, the sun up, the day young, and I was young too I believed. At Freese’s Pond when I passed, one of the pair of bald eagles nesting there this spring crossed over the dam to the road and led me all the way to Mr. Mike’s Store, where he veered sharp right and disappeared to wherever eagles go when they veer right. And I would have absolutely gone too had he allowed it. Up above the trees, the water, tagging along on his draft and gleaning all parts of his knowledge. Like how to live simply and not take too much. Like how to sit in the tallest tree and be content. Like how to be young and then older and then old and allowing that sequence always to comfort me, to be my soft landing.