The Eagle from O’Leary Peak Carries the River in a Nutshell
I stare up at the eagle as it soars high above me in my Sunset Crater home. I wonder what it would be like to have wings. From O’Leary Peak it peers down below at the craggy lava fields. The majestic bird begins its descent. The bird of prey gazes to the west at the snow covered San Francisco Mountains. As it glides downward on a thermal wind, the black and white bird peers north toward the Grand Canyon cut by river and time. Then stretching towards the east, morning light warms its feathers, and the descending eagle takes in the Painted Desert’s pinks and blues. Peering down in a southerly direction, the white hooded bird glimpses past slopes of craters towards Upper and Lower Lake Mary that nestle above the rim. Finally, the sacred bird scans the sea of black rough rock, zeroing in on me, the solitary aspen tree that stands in the narrow opening of a lava canyon. The winged creature keeps staring at me before landing on my drying, aspen branches.
The eagle asks me, “Tree, are you thirsty? Don’t despair. I landed because I heard you gasping.”
Since I am one of the Talking Trees I answer in a parched voice. “Yes. No rain for months.”
The feathered creature assures me, “I’ll fly to the Little Colorado River and carry you back some water in a nutshell.”
I thought I was hallucinating when the eagle said this to me. Maybe I am so dehydrated that I am beginning to imagine things. But then, it might be true, because I have heard stories from blue jays about the eagle’s power. I feel hopeful for any moisture. My sap pulses strong at the thought of water and reply to the eagle. “In exchange for water, I will share great stories with you about this home that I call my own.”
The eagle nods in acknowledgment of my offer before taking off to the river. The eagle said before leaving, “I will help raise you, satin barked tree, because you have no family.”
He returns later and nourishes me with water from the river. The buoyant winged one promises to return again. Not only does he return once more, he returns so many times that I begin to look forward to the eagle’s regular visits. The eagle also brings me melted snow. This is especially helpful in a dried up lava bed canyon where I live alone. I also learn the mystery of how to be filled with water from a nutshell, water that flows from the mighty nearby river.
I tell the eagle stories. “Here during full moons’ bright shadow I hear the wild life cries of long ago and memories collide when amber lava poured over scorched earth. In the lamp of the moon I weep at the death of my brothers and sisters, the squirrels, the rabbits, the chipmunks, the buffalo, the mountain lions, the bears, the coyotes, the elk, the deer, and the antelope. I see when craters spewed hot lava flowing. When I feel so alone, ‘Whose tree am I?’ I cry out.”
Then I hear the creator's voice. “Whoever treats you as their brother.”
I reach out to the eagle and gently embrace it. “You are my brother. We come from one and the same. You have wings, I have roots. Thank you for sharing the mystery of water with me so I can live in this lava canyon. Thank you for giving your eagle feathers to form a waterfall in this canyon so when it rains or snows it nourishes my roots. Thank you for carrying the river in a nutshell to me.”