Isn’t that how the song goes… something about Up On Eagle’s Wings? I think it’s a song I remember from the days when I attended church regularly. When I try to recall it right now, I hear a slow organ playing a deep, slow melody in the back of my mind.

Why do I ask? Well, I had an encounter with an eagle the other day, and now I can’t get this song out of my head. And I thought he might raise me up, all the way to the tops of the trees. And then maybe drop me. My friend Dee was with me, and she had a different reaction. She thought he might dig his claws into my neck, and that his wingspan would sideswipe her and then he’d thwap me (or the windshield – I am confused about this part) and send us all careening out of the car. And then he’d drop me…because she would have escaped the claw-clenching since those talons were now deeply embedded in me.

No, this wasn’t a dream. It was a small nightmare. And not during the nighttime or twilight hours. It was about 11:45 a.m. on our way to have lunch. In my convertible, with the top down. This is a true story.

It was a decent day, somewhat cloudy, but warm. Although we have both had schedules that were littered with various appointments and errands lately, we found we had a block of time where we were both open. So in a mid-morning phone conversation when I was still in my nightie, we decided to quickly get decent, go for a drive, and find a new spot for lunch. I wore a t-shirt with sleeves so the sun wouldn’t burn my shoulders, and she had on a sweater. It was damp from humidity, making a drive with the top down cooler than the thermometer might tease you with. This is important to note because the eagle wouldn’t have been awestruck at my normally milky white shoulders, but maybe the white t-shirt was still potentially appealing to him.

Anyhoo… we are driving along Highway 17 North, through a bit of farmland with only occasional homes and commercial buildings here and there. Where we live, you often can drive along a stretch of road with nothing and suddenly come across a random school that makes you wonder where the kids come from, where the family homes are, where the parents work, what sustains this area so that they can plop a school beside those trees. We were having such a conversation. In an otherwise rural area.

And then a little bit in front us, as we are cruising at 60 mph, a very large brownish bird with a white head and white tail feathers glided down to perch on the guardrail on Dee’s side of the road.

We both looked at each other, the way you immediately do when you want to see if someone saw what you think you saw. I started to ask “Is that …?” when he make a quick turn and swooped back in front of us, much closer this time. I barely got out an “OH my God!” when he spun back, spread his wings in all his glory, and looked as if he was going to attack us. Or commit suicide by Sebring! (For the record, the picture of the guardrail was taken much later, and the image of the eagle is a stock photo from the internet. This was not a Hallmark movie set where we happened to have a camera at the ready in a perilous moment. Although now that I think of it, wouldn’t it have been cool if a tall, dark, handsome stranger came to our rescue?)

I just knew I was going to hit him. (The eagle, not a TDH rescuer.) I immediately shouted at Dee, “Isn’t it illegal to kill eagles?” while simultaneously wondering if I was to accidentally smash into it with my sort-of little car, would there be enough force to actually kill it, or would I just piss him off? Then I also had the presence of mind to check the rear-view mirror, and seeing no other car, pump the brakes. I had still another fleeting thought: how much do eagle feathers bring? Because I had recently seen pheasant feathers in a home decor store, and they were selling for $5/each, and I have over $100 worth in a vase on my desk that came from Kevin’s hunting days. But yes, I was sure, it’s illegal to sell eagle feathers even if the eagle was dead through no fault of mine.

It’s funny how time slows down so you can have fully-formed, if not exactly coherent thoughts, at the moment of impending disaster.

I was hoping for a new windshield, truth be told, so I could be rid of the many specks and pits on this old thing. A new cowl would also be great. (A cowl is the gasket thing around the windshield but it doesn’t hold the windshield in place; it is a seal that prevents water from leaking down into the engine, I think.) Mine is old and showing dry rot; it might even be missing a small chunk if I remember correctly.

Yes, my thoughts were as random as that elementary school we passed back there.

Still, I didn’t want to kill this majestic bird. Actually, I considered that he might not be well. For one thing, he wasn’t speedy. He landed on a guardrail post instead of in the trees next to the guardrail. He weaved in front of us – all of this in slow motion for a nanosecond – not much higher than the top of the car instead of claiming all the sky overhead. I mean, isn’t part of the magic of an eagle that it is untouchable, that it soars so far up that you need binoculars to confirm it is what it is? But this one was right there almost next to me, literally touchable.

And then just like that! it was gone. We didn’t strike any part of it, he didn’t grip my neck and pull me out of my seatbelt, we resumed our speed, and I didn’t get a new windshield. I did, however, have quick onset PTSD. My hands were shaking so much I had to lock them around the steering wheel. My accelerated heart rate took until after lunch to calm down. My rate of speech, on a good day already in kind of quick-step mode, was only matched by my ability to repeat “Oh My God!” a few thousand times.

Dee seemed fairly calm through it all, although she did admit to visions of me making a mess by bleeding all over the road from the punctures caused by the embedded claws. She turned to try and see where it disappeared to, but no luck. “That was fun,” she blithely reported.

We had our lunch (side note: we highly recommend Roma’s lunch time buffet in Tappahannock) and did a quick walk through an antique store. On our way home, we searched the roadside unsuccessfully to see if we could find an injured eagle. We even slowed down enough to check behind the guardrail where we initially had our encounter. I hope he’s recovered (if he was unwell) or that he got a good laugh out of his fellow flyers after telling them how he scared the crap out of two old ladies in a blue convertible on Highway 17 the other day.