So I’m walking down the road with Henry the boxer, Audrey (one of my many sweet sisters), her Copper the boxer, Roxy (a tiny corgie/chihuahua mix), and Zoe (a dog, pyrenees/collie mix, that once lived at our house and then moved to the big city to live with my father-in-law). We’re a hot mess that day – every car in the neighborhood decides to drive down the road – the dogs on leashes are trying to chase the dogs off the leashes and we just about cut the walk short, but then the stars seem to align just right and we manage to continue in a somewhat organized fashion. I use the term “somewhat organized” VERY loosely here, folks.
We walk and talk. The sun tries to reach through the canopy of leaves over the road, but fails mostly and we continue on through dappled shade and the occaisional sunny spot. Funny the things you talk about when you walk. Sometimes very serious things that are easier to talk about while you’re doing something else. Sometimes silly things to fill the space. Sometimes observations on the things you see around you as you exercise your mind, body, and spirit. Sometimes, on particular days when you feel hope, you dare to dream with the person you are walking with.
On the way back, Audrey (Miss Attention to Detail) points out this beautiful blue egg. The most perfect aqua, sea blue egg and it lay on the ground among the leaves and the gravel seeming to know that it wasn’t going to reach its full potential, but it was just going to lay there and be beautiful anyway. I feel sorry for the bird-that-never-gets-to-Be in that egg – it’s a slight pull in my chest, a regret for something that will never learn to fly. Some may argue that maybe the inside of that egg never actually became a bird – maybe it got knocked out or something like that, but I argue back that eggs make birds and birds learn to fly. In my heart, this is an inarguable truth and in my head, all the rationalizing and logic in the world can never convince me not to feel sorry for the bird-that-never-gets-to-Be.
I immediately wish for a camera. Mine is at home as is Audrey’s phone. I contain my dismay and we continue on home and through the day and I still keep thinking about that egg – how pretty it was – all blue in a sea of brown, surrounded by clover and gravel. Just laying there in an elegance that humans cannot reproduce though we try and try.
The next day, I set out on my walk with Henry and my camera and search for the egg and find it there in the same place, the same aqua, sea blue, the same feeling of sadness overcomes me, and my dog is staring at my like I’ve lost my mind. I snap a few pictures and then continue on with my walk still thinking about that dang bird-that-never-gets-to-Be. Can’t get it out of my head – just the image mostly – as I go through my day. So here is what I do when I get home:

Always know that you are deeply loved and that you are a bird-that-gets-to-Be. Always know that even in the fierce battles of life, there is a calm, quiet strength that, should we choose to lean upon it, makes us soar like eagles – even if we came out of the tiniest of perfect, aqua, sea blue shells.
Don’t forget to fly!!!