High in a range of mountain peaks
where oft I go to fish and hike,
there is a lake where trout grow large,
and if the fly and time are right
they strike sometimes at every cast.
But mostly they just cruise content
until the next fly hatch.
So, therefore, most my time is spent
examining the beauty
on display before my view,
reflecting on my purpose,
and pondering things I’ve learned are true.
At one such time my musings
were interrupted when I spied
an osprey high above me
gliding in the cloudy sky.
His soaring ended suddenly.
His wings began to sway
back and forth and then he plunged
into the lake. The mighty spray
of water settled just in time
for me to see him take his flight
with nothing in his talons.
I grabbed my pack in hopes he might
attempt again, and that this time
my camera might record
a trout clutched in his mighty claws.
I waited as again he soared
then hovered as before,
and, as before, he boldly dove
into the placid water.
Seconds later he arose,
exerting all his strength to fly.
Amid the frenzied splashing,
I saw that in his mighty grasp
a monstrous trout was thrashing,
a grander fish than ever had
I landed with my fly and line,
a cutthroat twice the osprey’s weight:
six pounds, seven, maybe nine.
Thrice the osprey tried to rise;
thrice he failed, then rested,
refusing to release the prize
in which he’d so invested.
I knew from what I’d read before—
something that you may not know—
an osprey grips its prey so tightly,
sometimes it cannot let go.
So, if the fish is larger
than what the osprey’s strength allows,
that fish may pull it under
and sadly, yes, the osprey drowns.
I watched with bated breath;
the bird made one last try,
and left the lake without his prey.
for the safety of the sky.
He rested fifteen minutes
atop a Ponderosa pine,
then once again he hovered
above the surface, but this time
the fish was more in keeping
with what his strength and skill allowed.
I smiled as, with his prize in tow,
he disappeared into a cloud.

Most every man or woman born
is driven to succeed.
Success makes them consumers,
consuming more than what they need.
Their ownership defines them—
they think—and in their quest for more:
a newer car, a larger house,
more lavish than the ones before,
they somehow lose the vision
that goodness is the goal.
Once they forget life’s purpose,
their wants then take control.
And soon those wants consume them.
They’ve grasped so hard, before they know,
they're clenching them so tightly,
that somehow they just can’t let go.
Why spend our strength on getting?
True happiness comes when we live
for others, not unto ourselves;
life’s purpose is to learn to give.
If we, like some poor osprey,
can't realize in time our blunder,
if we cannot give up our greed,
that greed will drag us under.
I pondered on this lesson
and set the course my life would take,
that day I sat and watched an osprey
fishing in a mountain lake.
I’ll not be swayed by avarice,
self-centeredness, and greed,
but grateful live, content to have
sufficient for my need.

My favorite animals are birds. I’m not a passionate bird watcher like some, but I’ll stop what I’m doing almost anytime to watch a flicker searching for insects on the trunks of the birch trees in my backyard or cedar waxwings eating the little crab apples outside my front window, or to listen intently to a meadowlark sing while I’m hiking. This poem is based on an actual experience I had once observing an osprey fish on a mountain lake. As I’ve said before, “every object from nature’s collection holds a lesson for me.” Because I love metaphor, I’m always searching for new ones, and nature is full of yet undiscovered ones.

It occurred to me once that, in probably more cases than not, wealth is a curse rather than a blessing. I’ve observed that wealth is mostly a distraction from life’s real purpose: giving of ourselves. I like to think that were I a wealthy person, I would be a far more giving person, but I have to pause and ask myself if I give sufficiently of what I do have. My personal inclination has never been to pursue personal wealth. I admire those—they are few—who have done so with the purpose to use that wealth to further God’s purposes—not their own—and then follow through with that purpose without being swallowed up by their wants. Most of us, however, rich or poor, can do much better in curbing our wants and finding contentment in having enough for our need and in using our energy and surplus in helping others meet theirs (I speak of both physical and spiritual need). Charity is all about doing that. It is no virtue to help others obtain wants they don’t need, so how can it be a virtuous thing to spend our time pursuing our own?