The Swan

The Swan

I need to go. I must go. My body is vibrating.  I can’t settle myself. I am in a state of overwhelm and no matter what I do I can’t escape the dark energy that has settled in the house. It has invaded my body and has filled up my core.  It is suffocating.

I can’t access the light inside of me. It is there but I can’t get to it. It is shrouded in darkness. I tell my husband this. I need to get away for a couple of days to clear my mind and my body.  He gets it and understands. I know he feels the darkness too, but he is much better than me at deflecting it.

I know exactly where I am going to go. I knew I would go back there the moment I set foot in the place.

I think about the pond. I think about the dragonflies, but mostly I think about the swans.

I Love a road Trip

Journey and Destination

Floating in my car

Arrangements get made, the day comes. Car is packed, I kiss my husband, hug the dogs and leave.
As soon as I make the turn out of our driveway, I feel a little lighter.  I have always loved road trips and although I have a destination, there is something about the journey.

I love this drive. It heads west on Highway 7 through quaint villages, along lakes, beside rivers, and through forests. The highway is 2 lane which forces you to take your time.  This is perfect and it causes me to settle. Although the darkness that is in me is still there, removing myself from the source means no more is pouring in.

I feel like I can breathe just a little deeper.

I continue this part of the drive taking in the scenery while trying hard not to think about the past couple of months. Instead, I focus on sensations in my body. I feel the movement of the car under me, my hands lightly on the steering wheel, my body shifting as I take the gentle turns down the highway.

I see my exit coming up and then head south towards the Ganaraska Forest. 

The Cottage

“Many Dragonflies

Appear like Faeries Flying

Lighting on Body”

 I drive down the quiet road to the Whitetail Cottage. The road is carved out through the forest, winding around soft corners up and down rolling hills.  The tree canopy extends over the road. It is a tunnel of leaves and I feel like I am being transported into a fantasy world where fairies and magical creatures live.

There is a luminosity about the road as sparkles of sunlight come through the dense leaves.  As I approach the cottage I go over train tracks and a little wooden bridge with the creek running under it.  The bridge is very narrow with no guard rails beams on either side to mark the edge. I stop on the bridge and look to my right. I see the pond and the dam where water flows under the bridge to a lovely creek deep below. I roll down my window and hear cascading water and smell the air.  It is mid-September and the air smells like damp leaves.  I breathe it in. I feel a little darkness escape my body through my out breath while my in breath fuels an inner glow.

 I drive the final bend and tight turn into the cottage grounds.

I get out, gaze over the pond and breathe.

I see a few dragonflies.

In most cultures dragonflies are a symbol of renewal and resilience.

Renewal is what I need as the resilience I thought I had is currently buried in my body.

I know this is where I am supposed to be.

I unlock the cottage, unload my car and advise the owner that I have arrived.  While I wait for her to come I head out to the dock and look for the swans.  I don’t see them.

The pond is mostly still other than little circles appearing on the surface.  I assume these are insects lighting or maybe fish below.  Over the surface there are a myriad of dragonflies. They fly like helicopters flitting here and there, sometimes just hovering, their translucent wings vibrating.

As I watch I hear a voice, I turn and see the owner of the cottage.
She is woman  about my age with shoulder length grey hair and a bright smile.

We chat about my trip and then I ask her about the swans.

She says they do come and go but left in June the last time I was there.

I am a little disappointed as I was looking forward to seeing them again.

I take the time to chat. I had not met her the last time I was here.  She was really interested in telling me the story of the property. It turns out the cottage is on a protected Class A wetland, and she had done a lot of work to protect it.

I ask her about the swans and she tells me they are trumpeter swans, the only swan native to North America. They were almost hunted out of existence in the late 1800’s but now have made a little come back when they were brought back to Ontario in the 1990’s.  

We go into the cottage and for the first time I notice pictures of dragonflies on the walls, and she notices my interest.  I wonder why I did not notice them last time I was here. I tell her how much I love dragonflies.  She smiles brightly and says the cottage is named after the Whitetail dragonfly in one of the pictures.  That makes so much sense to me.

After she leaves, I set up my bed, put away the provisions I have brought with me, and then go outside.

 I head out to a bench a couple metres in front of the dam overlooking the pond.
 I hear rushing water as it flows through the openings in the dam.  I sit down on the bench and take off my shoes. My bare feet feeling not only the soft grass but also the vibrations from the rushing water. I feel my body relax as I breathe and more of the tension I have been feeling starts to release. I gaze over the pond. It is coming on late afternoon. The light is so beautiful touching the top of the trees that circle the pond and illuminating the water below. As I sit I hear a strange honking noise and a rush of flapping wings.

I look up and see a trumpeter swan flying right above me. I watch her fly over the pond to the farthest end where she gracefully lands on the water, tucking her wings to her sides as she does.

I am transfixed and look around.  I don’t see or hear any others.  She is alone. I wonder why?  

I watch her swim around. She is so elegant with a beautiful “S” shaped neck that moves up and down as she swims. Her swimming is not linear but rather in swooping circles. Now and again, she dips her head into the water and then stretches her neck up high like she is reaching for something.  I watch her for in awe of her elegance.

The sun is starting to set behind the tree line.  I hear another sound, a buzzing sound.  Then I feel a bite while swarms of mosquitos arrive. I am quickly broken out of my transfixed mood and head to the cottage before I get eaten alive.

The next morning, I slip out of bed, put on comfy yoga pants and my coziest wrap. I make myself a coffee and then head out to the dock with my journal tucked under my arm, my yoga mat slung over my shoulder.  The plan is to watch the sunrise over the tree line, have a coffee, journal, and practice yoga.

 I slept well and felt more rested and more myself than I had over the past couple of months. I sip my coffee and reflect to mid July when our estranged son arrived at our doorstep.

Arrival of son

Trauma and sadness within

Enveloping me

There was no notice of him coming. We had minimal contact over the past few years. Sometimes he would text or call. Often I would get a call from police, a hospital or street outreach people needing something for him. I had not seen him since before the pandemic.  He had been living a life of addiction, in precarious housing or living rough on the street. Sometimes he was incarcerated.

Our doorbell rang and there he was. I almost did not recognize him. He was dirty and thin. He looked so tired, and it appeared as if he was wearing all the clothes he owned. I couldn’t help but notice his shoes, one of the soles tied on with string.  I looked him in the eyes, his were welling with tears, he said “ Mom I need your help.”

I opened door and he came in.  He sat at our kitchen counter; I got him some water.  I let him talk. He told me he walked here from Ottawa. That was 85 kilometers away. I could not begin to imagine what that was like, nor the determination that fueled that.

 I could feel the deep suffering in him.  There was such darkness. All I wanted to do was to fix it. Wrap him in warm blanket and make it all go away. I knew from experience it would require a lot more than that.

The test of our mutual resilience was about to begin.

Lone Trumpeter Swan

A reflection on water

Connecting to me

I see the lone swan off in the distance and I am so happy she is still here. The pond is calm. I see her reflection in the water. It is an upside-down mirror in shimmers of white, yellow, and green.

I finished my journaling and started my yoga practice

The dock is a floating one, so the balancing poses were challenging.  I am also distracted by the dragonflies everywhere.  They are lighting on the dock and then lighting on me. Tree pose does not last long as I lose my balance and wisely decide to move to a seated pose.  I notice the swan again. She is closer to me and seems to be looking in my direction. She is swimming in arcing circles but is making a forward progression to where I am.

She gets about half across the pond and then settles in the middle. I sense her curiosity as she looks at me.  I watch her as she swims around ducking her head under the water and coming back up with something in her beak. She lifts her head up high to swallow and repeats this motion a few times. I think, she is having her breakfast. My stomach rumbles. Time for my breakfast. I finish my yoga practice and head back up the cottage.

Water calling me

Shimmering as I slip in

Darkness leaves body

Early evening and I feel this urge to go into the pond.  The owner told me that people do swim in it. There is a ladder at the dam for easy access. It is however mid-September and the water is cold.  I don’t really care about the cold. I just feel the urge to get in the water.  I put on a bathing suit, grab a towel, and post swim clothes and head to the pond. 

I see the swan at the far end swimming around. The air is quite warm with little breeze. I make my way to the top on the dam. It is level with the ground and is made of cement. I see the metal ladder descending into the water, so I carefully step down. The water is very cold, but I am determined to get in. The steps are slippery, covered in algae so I take my time. I extend one leg downward to the rocks at the bottom and once I feel secure, I bring my other leg to meet it. The water is up to my waist and is very cold. I don’t care. I squat down. The water is up to my neck. This shocks my system, but I start to control my breath. I then push off and glide out.

My body feels so light and free as I adjust to the temperature. I feel like I am glowing inside. I feel my body releasing and then I see the swan. She is swimming in my direction. It is slow but purposeful. Instinctively I swim towards her, and we reach a point where we are probably 100 metres apart. She stops, cranes her head to look at me, we have this moment, and then she slowly swims away.  I am left with this feeling of bliss and joy.

The meaning of Swans

Listen, they come on purpose

Nature Connecting

That evening, I am warming up by the fire and I text a friend about my experience. She is a very attuned human and sends me the meaning of the arrival of swans.

“ No matter what is happening in your life right now, do whatever it takes to keep your faith strong. You will soon find clarity and purpose in the confusion you are experiencing”

I am listening.

As we are texting, I hear a whoosh of wings and loud honking. I race outside to see four trumpeter swans as they land on the pond right at the dock.  I am simply blown away. It is unbelievable.  I watch them until they disappear into the darkness.  I feel profound connection.

My body feels so light and my heart is full.

I have this strong sense of renewal.

The next morning, I am getting ready to head back home.

 I walk out to the pond one last time.

The one swan is right at the end of the dock.

I quietly walk out.  She just is floating there, looking at me.

She is so close I could almost touch her.

I feel her heart in mine.

She lowers head.

It feels like reverence.

I lower mine.

I thank her.

I walk away to go and when I turn back to look, she is gone.