A Moment of Grace

Cindy Ord, Getty Images

“I’m so sick of a country where everyone just cares about themselves!” Ian and I are puffing up the first hill of Wildcat Canyon (Gawd, I notice the difference in my breath from not swimming regularly!). A battalion of young women is marching down the hill toward us. No one has a mask on. They are talking politics? But whose side are they on? (And aren’t we all on one side or the other? The unfortunate duality of our present day as Kamala Harris has written about)

            These women seem to be on the side of who cares about anyone else since no one is wearing a mask. But, yet, they seem to be complaining about the current administration and its selfish, egotistical sinister leader, Donald Trump. Who also doesn’t wear a mask. Or at least he didn’t till he caught the Virus.

            Yet, these young women don’t seem concerned about catching the Virus. “It’s young people,” Ian says later.  “They think they’re invincible.  That they won’t catch it. Or if they catch it, they won’t be very sick.”

            “Yeah, tell that to my young healthy 28-year-old student from last term who almost died from COVID.”

            “Exactly,” Ian nods, then continues on talking about how he can’t get some BBC theater show on Hulu cuz his computer is too old and he’d have to pay for it. I tell him to get a new computer. He can afford it. Then he can watch HULU for its free trial. Or even better, find another theater show other than this one. There are hundreds of them out there cuz of COVID.

            But I get his frustration too. You just want to watch something on the computer. Or listen to something. Or Zoom someone. And, the technology foils you. It’s so aggravating! Our world is so full of petty annoyances that get blown out of proportion cuz we’re in the Pandemic and everything just seems impossible.

            And it’s not. But I get how it seems that way. I feel that way about swimming. Last month I just gave up. It was just too hard to get a reservation. I’m not a resident of Berkeley or El Cerrito. So, I have to wait 48 hours after the residents sign up. By the time I can sign up, all that’s left is the Dive Tank at night or a cancelation in the middle of the day. It’s so upsetting. And no end in sight. The vaccine rollout is slow and mismanaged. And now there’s a new strain of the virus. It’s more virulent. Who knows if the vaccine works on it? Then there’s a group of healthcare workers in San Diego who all had an allergic reaction to the vaccine.

            It just goes on and on.

            So being out in Wildcat Canyon to celebrate Dr. King feels freeing. Except when a battalion of unmasked young women barrels toward us.

            This passes though. And we walk on in the dimming light of the sky. The hills are greener now even with the damn drought. When we reach our destination, we pause, and I gaze up at the golden light on the green green hills, the cows mooing and grazing. They’re not worried about COVID or politics or the drought or massive racial injustice!

            It’s very calming to stand on the hill and watch the light change. I see a couple, very far away, on the top of the hill in the golden light, a white dog running ahead of them full of puppy abandon. I sigh deeply as I turn to watch Ian march up the hill to join me. He’s puffed.

            We gaze at the cows for a few moments before heading back, the sky a murky purple blue now. As we near the hill where the unmasked women had nearly tramped over us only an hour before, I see a large square dark shape emerge from a tree up in the dusky sky. It’s flying low over me: silent and purposeful. Its eyes are big and watching.

            An OWL!!! I stop Ian and point. We both stand for a moment in awe as it passes over us, off to its nightly rounds.

            “Was that an OWL?” I ask him, when obviously it was.

            “Yup.”

            “WOW! I’ve never seen one up close like that!”

            “No, it’s not usual. You hear them, but you rarely see them. When I lived on St. Jude Road, there were owls out at night when I walked Dundee, but I rarely caught a glimpse of them.”

            “That was special for us, wasn’t it Ian?” I’m so thrilled. I mean, when nature graces us with her treasures, it’s such a treat.

            “Yes,” Ian agrees, “it was pretty special.”

            I hug him. He holds me up. We grin and grin.

            Till we hear a group of noisy walkers coming up behind us. “Let’s get out of here,” I say, heading down the final hill. Ian nods. We stomp down the dark, gravely path. A "Whooo whoo whoo whoo" echoes in the night. I wonder if it’s Our Owl: sure, mysterious, magical.

            We had our Moment of Grace. With nature.

            I will never forget it.