The Osprey's Visit

One morning I felt drawn to take my morning tea outside. I wanted to sit quietly, listen to the birds, and simply be present. As I sat there sipping my tea, my thoughts began to wander, and before long I found myself having a bit of a heart-to-heart with Spirit.

I still had questions about my path toward healing. I knew I was making progress, but I wanted to understand it more deeply. My thoughts wandered through other parts of my life as well—my writing, the direction of my work, the things that seemed to be calling me forward. Nothing felt particularly settled that morning. I wasn’t looking for one particular answer; I think I was simply hungry to understand more.

What was happening beneath the surface of my life? What was beginning to emerge that I couldn’t quite see yet?

I thought about something my husband had said the night before. He looked over at me and said, “You look good.” He wasn’t talking about my appearance. It was my eyes. He said there was a brightness in them that he hadn’t seen in a while.

I knew exactly what he meant—the presence of Shen. In Chinese medicine, Shen describes that sense of vitality, awareness, and presence that seems to shine through our eyes when we feel deeply connected to ourselves. I had felt it too—a little more connected, a little more alive. He had been able to see outwardly what I was beginning to feel inwardly.

I was still sitting with these thoughts when something drew my attention upward. A large bird flew across the yard and landed at the very top of our cedar tree.

There was something about him that immediately caught my attention. He was big—larger than a Red-tailed Hawk—and even from a distance I could see the contrast of brown and white. Could that be an osprey? I needed a closer look.

Quietly, almost instinctively, I asked him to stay while I slipped into the house for my binoculars. When I stepped back outside, there he was, still perched at the top of the tree. Through the binoculars, everything came into focus. I could see his rich brown back, pale underside, white face, and the distinctive dark mask sweeping across his eyes. It was an osprey.

I knew there was a nesting pair on the lake at the end of our street, and over the years I had only occasionally seen them flying overhead. I had never had one land in my yard and give me the chance to observe him so closely. I was in awe and felt honored by his presence. It didn’t take long before the blue jays were loudly protesting his presence, and soon the squirrels were sounding their alarms. It was actually quite loud. A smaller hawk, perhaps alerted by all the commotion, soon arrived from the wooded area by our house, where we have a nesting pair. With claws outstretched, he flew at the osprey, making it quite clear that he was not welcome there. The osprey, so much larger, seemed only mildly irritated by all the commotion, but eventually he lifted from the tree and flew away.

Clarity of Vision

Later, I reflected on the osprey’s visit. Unlike the eagle, which we often associate with soaring high above and seeing life from a broader perspective, the osprey’s life revolves around another remarkable ability: its vision, it must waits until it can see clearly. An osprey can hover, circle, or perch quietly for long periods. It isn’t in a hurry. It watches the water, patiently searching beneath the surface for what it needs to see.

But the osprey faces an interesting challenge.

Water bends light.

A fish beneath the surface is not exactly where it appears to be. The osprey must see accurately despite that distortion before plunging into the water.

Only days earlier, I had spoken with an ophthalmologist about the cataract developing in my left eye. He explained that some of my loss of clarity was caused by the cataract scattering and bending the light entering my eye.

Light bending — a subtle synchronicity seemed to be bringing something beneath the surface into view — Here I was experiencing changes in my physical vision while also searching for greater clarity in my life—and then a bird known for extraordinary vision appeared in my yard. That morning I was reminded that answers do not always come by searching harder or demanding to know where everything is leading, but by becoming quiet enough to notice what is already beginning to emerge. Thoughts from my Journal

Synchronicities, unexpected encounters, and symbolism can become part of a language that brings to the surface something already unfolding within us.

The osprey came while I was sitting outside, sipping dandelion tea and quietly reflecting on my life. In that state of open curiosity and contemplation, I was able to notice the subtle messages and guidance arising from beneath the surface.

He offered me a reminder that clarity of perception requires both patience and timing—and that sometimes what we are searching for is already there, waiting for us to see it.

And then there were the binoculars, reminding me that there is more than one way to see. Intuition can become another lens, bringing into focus not only what is before us, but also what rests just beneath the surface of our conscious awareness.

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 Photos by Valerie Greguire. Artwork by Valerie Greguire, created with AI assistance