Our eagle landed mid-meadow – an unusual move for it, but so was the time we sought. The grass had grown old since the last visit: knee-deep it stood leaning on a crooked cane, whistling some tune the wind had taught it. Coming down from the eagle’s back we could hear pebbles chant gently beneath the soil, and the two songs merged into an ancient joy that filled our wayward hearts. “This must be the place,” the bird said and bid farewell after
we blessed it. Thus was the campground decided; this nest for us to rest.