A beautiful responsibility

‘A lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world and the responsibilities of your life.’

—Mary Oliver,

‘The Leaf and the Cloud’

We are driving to the veterinarian’s office early one morning to deliver Bu for surgery. He’s got some questionable masses and it’s our responsibility to seek the care he needs.

The specter of canine cancer hovers, along with anxiety over the surgical procedure. Lost in thought, I almost fail to notice the kingfisher perched on an exposed tree branch overlooking a boggy area of open water. Against a brilliant sky, the bird’s unique silhouette is delineated sharply—long dagger-like beak and spiky crest declare a presence I’ve only encountered here in warmer seasons. The sighting of this beautiful bird brightens the oppressive swirl of thoughts.

While working on a story recently, I met another beautiful bird. Miles is a barred owl that lives at the Delaware Valley Raptor Center, a rehabilitation and education facility for injured birds of prey located in Milford, PA. Miles’s injuries prevent him from returning to the wild, so his life is spent helping to educate humans about his fellow raptors.

Founders and caretakers Bill and Stephanie Streeter reminded me to be on the lookout for red-tailed hawks stationed in bare treetops along our roadways. On a recent drive back from Boston, five such hawks made their presence known, one flying briefly at a speed nearly equivalent to that of the car, along a jagged outcropping of rock. Lit warmly with fading sunlight, the bird cast a fantastic flying shadow against the stone. We were returning to the tasks that govern our lives, easing the trip home with these glimpses of beauty.

Often we become distracted by common concerns, driven to meet essential needs for shelter, food and clothing. Beyond these, we have responsibilities to one another, to other life forms, even to the places where each of us lives our lives.

Even beyond all this—and what Oliver is really referring to—we are responsible for seeking and appreciating beauty, and for asking substantial questions of ourselves.

These are often challenging or seemingly unanswerable questions, like those posed by Scott Russell Sanders in “The Force of Spirit,” who writes, “How did we come to be here, and why? What is our place among the other creatures? How should we spend our modest allowance of time? The obvious risk is that my answers will be too small, too clumsy, an amateur’s raid on mystery; but that is less of a risk than to leave the questions unasked.”

I find myself deeply drawn to Miles for the simple beauty of his eyes. Out there in the dark forests, Miles’s fellow owls strive to meet the responsibilities of their lives. And although this feathered being is not offering up easy answers, gazing into the deep pools of his soulful eyes, I can see for miles and miles.