A bald eagle sometimes cruises along our ridge. Although he flies close enough for us to see his white head, he’s never near enough for a Kodak moment.

My closest encounter with an eagle in the wild occurred when Terry and I traveled to Nova Scotia with friends, Suanne and Jimmy, several years ago. I’m certain each of us still has some sort of mental image of the breathtaking moment when a full-grown eagle swooped down, talons extended toward some road kill on a mountainous stretch of highway. That bird looked almost as big as the compact car ahead of us.

He must have been one hungry guy—or his mother hadn’t taught him to look both ways before crossing the road. He came in so fast, the car had to brake hard and swerve. They might have hit him, but that magnificent creature managed a heart-stopping touch-and-go (without acquiring so much as one morsel of nourishment, I might add). The memory still thrills me.