So this morning I got a feeling that I would see an eagle and so decided to take my camera to work. Let me back up – About a year ago, on a fine sunny morning, shortly after I started working at Stanford, I was walking through the wood at the side of the Oval and there sat a red-tailed hawk (which I mistook for an eagle) perched on top of the sculpture The Three Graces. I was cursing myself for not bringing a camera and never fail to pass the spot since (which is twice-a-day every weekday) without glancing over to see if there is any sign of him. But never before had I thought I WOULD see him, or thought of him before I had even left the house. So I paid attention to my message. Accustomed as I am to obeying whatever whim wanders through my mind, I dutifully packed my camera and set off for Stanford.
I parked in the usual lot and headed over towards the wood. As I approached the spot, camera at the ready, I craned for the first view of the top of the sculpture, so certain was I that I would see that proud bird ready for his close up, but saw…nothing. Hmmm, this wasn’t in the plan, I searched the skies, nothing in sight. Hmmmm, was he hidden in a nearby tree, ready to thrill me when he swooped to land? Again, nothing. I couldn’t believe it. What was going on?
After a while standing and staring around at the empty sky I accepted the fact that it wasn’t happening. I wasn’t psychic. What a blow! I had already parlayed my gift into a money-making opportunity; perhaps I would be able to alert the National Geographic paparazzi of the imminent sighting of whatever the animal equivalent of Angelina Jolie is. (Yes, dear Reader, I really am that crazy).
I reluctantly put away my camera and started back on my journey to work, when I was drawn to a VERY CLOSE movement I caught out of the corner of my eye. I turned and stood face-to-face with the hugest hare (or jackrabbit as they are known here). Well, maybe not face-to-face, but certainly my-knee-to-his-face, I mean it was enormous, and RIGHT NEXT TO ME. Now, the next part is a bit blurry, hampered as I am by the PTSD, but there was a flurry of movement from both of us, possibly some leakage, certainly some squealing, and suddenly I was alone again in the glade.
Did that just happen? Did I summon some supernatural power and conjure him up? Am I a witch? So many questions filled my mind but most prominent was “why didn’t you take a picture you stupid f*c*&r?”
But wait, all was not lost, this photo op could still happen. There was a tell-tale rustling coming from a nearby bush – could that be the quivering of a terrified bunny? It is to my shame, dear Reader, that when I should have been falling to my knees and praising Gaia, instead I was debating if I should throw a rock at that bush and be ready to snap if Hartley hopped out. But our Mother Earth is merciful and powerful and she sent that petrified rabbit back out to meet the other petrified rabbit.
Alas, dealing as I was with my newly-discovered leporiphobia, I wasn’t up to the task, and the resulting images are deeply unrepresentative of the clarity that accompanied that moment (but quite representative of the hand trembling and general flusterment I was undergoing at the time).