Woodpecker

Yesterday we had breakfast with some friends that Bear had made through his voice-acting volunteer work.  They were lovely.  We shot the shit about random things, and just generally had a great time.  They were very welcoming and fun to hang out with.

After we had enjoyed our breakfast, (bacon and pancakes- ALWAYS a winning combination), we sat in the living room and talked for a while in front of their huge picture window.  The conversation was great.  However, at one point, some movement caught my eye outside the window.

I jumped up, not believing that I was seeing what I was seeing.  It was a HUGE pileated woodpecker with his bright red head.  He had to be at least 18 inches tall.  I’ve only seen one before in my life, but it’s such a striking bird that it’s instantly recognizable.  I dashed to the window, alarming our hosts no doubt, to nearly squee in delight at the sight.

Original caption: A male pileated woodpecker s...

West Linn, Oregon, USA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bear seemed nonchalant, saying that they showed up often in Maryland, his home state.  Regardless, I’m still excited that I got to see one.

When I looked up the symbolism of the woodpecker, there are a ton of different meanings.  Mostly, what I gleaned was that they represent the spirit of opportunity knocking, using your head, and creativity.

As one of our hosts was asking Bear to edit his monthly podcast, I think the symbolism fits.  It’s a once/month podcast, and it would be a great way to go back to something that he used to enjoy and get even more creative with it.  Also, our host has some connections, and he and Bear have already done some information swapping that has helped Bear along in his voice-acting endeavors.

I’m feeling very positive about Bear’s path right now.  I’m hoping mine will become clear to me soon.  🙂

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Introduction to Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

    This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.

    Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on the Isle of Wigh...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on the Isle of Wight, England in 1868 by Julia Margaret Cameron (1815 – 1879) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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