Up on the Divide, a rocky patch of Texas earth, I found what I was looking for. The cool air contrasting against the warm sun; it was a day of contrasts and compromises. I found an eagle's feather in the riverbed up at the boneyard. I wanted, hoped to see an eagle and photograph it. But, a feather would have to suffice today, and, by then, it made me happy just the same.
As usual the journey was worth more than the destination. Climbing into the ravine, it looked innocuous. The grass brown from no rain, no flowers left from the summer blooms, and the trees just starting to fade. Nothing to make National Geographic magazine. But, stepping gingerly in the tall crispy grass, I snaked my way down the embankment into the dry riverbed. Pock-marked limestone lay exposed to the sun dried to a cement gray. Sycamore saplings manage to eek out an existence in this moonscape and grow. An mule deer protests my presence and makes sure everything around knows I'm here.
Snapping a few pictures here and there, the light plays with me. This isn't a great day for photography. Crossing under the bridge, I see them. Five or six eagle feathers. Some tattered, some in tact, but all gray and white eagle feathers. Standing still, waiting, I listen and watch for any birds. I can see no nests, no movement. The mule deer has gone silent, but I'm out of her sightline.
I creep along the riverbed to a water gap and the fence is still in good shape. As far as I can go without getting shot, I wait. I listen. Nothing. The feathers will have to do and they are good enough.
