VIDEO

The eagle crashed into my yard on a storm-gray afternoon, its wing bent at an angle no wing should ever bend. I approached slowly, speaking in soft tones, and to my surprise, it didn’t fight me. Maybe it sensed I meant no harm.

For hours I worked—cleaning the wound, splinting the wing, wrapping the great bird in warm cloth. When I finally stepped back, the eagle blinked once, twice, as if memorizing my face.

By morning it was gone.

I thought that was the end of it—until I opened my door and nearly tripped over a large, freshly-caught fish. High above, perched on the tallest pine, the eagle watched me. It gave a single, sharp cry, spread its healing wings, and soared into the bright blue sky.

From that day forward, a fish would appear on my doorstep every week.

A wild, wordless thank-you from a friend of the air.