Copyright c 2010 by Lisa Alvir

Grand Junction, CO USA

The Legend of the Great Eagle
(As told by Professor Dale R. Puddles, Phf)

“Greater love has no one than this,

Than to lay down one’s life for his friends.

You are my friends…”

Jesus Christ
 The Legend of the Great Eagle
(As told by Professor Dale R. Puddles, Phf)

It began with a story, a dark and mystifying tale. Professor Puddles, the very wise bullfrog

whose skin was wrinkled and yellow with age, told the tale to all young tadpoles and pollywogs in their

first summer. Aspen Wren perched on a nearby branch and listened whenever the old story was told.

It’s only a story.” Riley would tease, but she never tired of hearing it. It touched her heart and fired her

imagination. Today she waited in anticipation. The young ones had gathered to hear the tale told in the

Professor’s gruff voice. They wiggled and giggled in the shallows beneath the overhanging branches of a

willow tree. Professor Puddles sat on a large stone at the edge of the water and smiled. The early

summer sun glittered off the surface of the water and made his wise old eyes sparkle.

The bullfrog cleared his throat, “Umm…Uugh.” That was all it took. Instantly there was silence.

Eager young eyes stared at the old frog. Aspen felt a slight tingling in her heart and settled in to listen

once again.

“The winds had come.” He began. “Dark billowing clouds filled the sky and swirling dust devils

raced along the valley floor. Never had the inhabitants of Pinion Hollow known winds of such force. But

they had not been without warning. The Great Eagle of Dark Canyon had foretold the coming of such a

storm.

“When the forest blooms with color and gold graces the Aspen, while the squirrel still gathers her

acorns and frogs sing in the evening, darkness will come. The old cottonwood at river bend will bring

destruction and the waters will rise. All who do not take refuge will perish! If you do not take heed you

will not walk again with the Creator.” When he flew from the canyon rim, his wings carrying him higher

and higher on the swirling currents, his cry could be heard from Crystal Creek to Pinion Hollow Pond.

“Take heed. Take heed.”

“The winds had come. “ Professor Puddles began.
 But the Indian summer was long and the sunshine warm. The waters of the Colorado ran clear,

and the surface of the pond lay smooth as glass. Mornings woke with gentle breezes. Evenings came on

slowly, moist warm air rising from calm waters, lulling the inhabitants of Pinion Hollow into gentle

dreams. Great Eagle was old. He had lived too long among the caves and rough crevices of Dark

Canyon. Few believed the Creator would walk the earth again or that the storm would ever come. Even

the old cougar, who made his home in the gorge, knew Great Eagle had lived many summers, and

watched over the cougar when he had played among the Junipers and sage as a cub. At one time the

eagle was renowned for his wisdom, and for his heart, for none who came to him for help were ever

turned away. He had been strong and his eye sight keen. And he had a son, a swift, courageous son with

immense golden wings, who was said to have journeyed into the vast mountainous wilderness beyond

Pinion Hollow. Yet, as the years wore on, fewer and fewer made the Journey to the mouth of Dark

Canyon. “The journey is too long; the rocks are too rough.” Some complained. “I can do it on my own. I

don’t need his advice!’” boasted others. Few remembered the old bird’s words. The animals whispered

among themselves that Great Eagle, now seldom seen by the busy inhabitants of the hollow, dwelt alone

in dark secret places of the cliffs, the expanse of his huge nest on the precipice of some forgotten canyon

wall now overgrown and hidden away.

Then came the winds, late in the afternoon as most of Pinion Hollow played in the meadow,

splashed in the shallows , or skipped across the stepping stones to the opposite side of Crystal Creek,

oblivious to the grey clouds building up along the canyon rim. An old crow, believing Great Eagle’s tale

to be true and having already gathered in his stores for the winter, noticed the dark shadows creeping

toward the sunny meadow. Worry wrinkled his brow. He was the first to sound the alarm, followed by

the brilliant green lizard, which had already moved his lair beneath the protection of a large granite

boulder. The lizard appeared to be quite lazy, lying about in the sun on a warm sandstone slab. But the

lizard was not lazy. He also watched the skies.

The Stepping Stones of Crystal Creek
 When the breeze along his back suddenly sent a chill into his bones, he raised his head. And,

unknown to all except the wise bullfrog who had already burrowed deep into a muddy bank, the waters

of Crystal Creek were rising.

“Ooo! Ooo! Go home! Go home!” crowed the old bird.

“Take heed! Take heed.” The lizard called.

Refuge! Refuge!” croaked the bullfrog.

Momentarily, some raised their heads to listen, but the meadow was brilliant with wildflowers,

the grass tender and sweet.

“Old busy bodies.” whispered the squirrels.

“Get a life.” The chipmunks giggled among themselves.

And young raccoon, who doubted most of all, laughed heartily. “Time for your nap, old ones.”

He mocked. “Only fools still believe that ancient bird’s fables.”

Skunk chuckled and slapped raccoon on the back. “You’re it!” he said, and they raced off across

the field away from the creek, away from safety, and into a growing darkness creeping out across the

clearing.

“Fools, fools!” called the crow, as the branches of the willow began to sway in the winds.

“Hurry, hurry!” called the lizard. He grabbed the tiny toes of two baby lizards, dragging them

back under a boulder. “Stay here!’ He warned, and raced back out into the sunshine. The wind whipped

at him as he came out from under the shelter. Sunlight was fading fast. Rain drops bounced off rocks

and plopped into the waters of Crystal Creek.

Mother Rabbit glanced around and gathered her bunnies about her. Wisely she started back,

intent on crossing the creek and heading home. But many delayed. “Just a gentle autumn rain.” They

said. The chipmunks and squirrels continued to gather their pinion nuts and seeds.
“Old busy bodies,” whispered the squirrels.
 The quail nibbled plump fallen berries beneath the chokecherry bushes. The bushes, however,

were swaying in the wind, water dripping from their leaves in the rain.

“Boom! Boom!” Thunder rumbled between the canyon walls now shimmering with a continuous

flow of water. The rain increased. Lighting burst from black swirling thunderheads and danced along the

edge of the cliffs. With tempestuous force, the wind suddenly roared over the canyon rim and poured

down into the ravine. Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked. And those in the meadow finally believed.

Parents frantically called to their young. The young cried for their parents, screaming against the noise of

the thunder and winds. All ran for the stepping stones that lead across Crystal Creek and to safety. They

skittered across the slippery grass approaching the muddy bank at full speed; too late, some realized

their error. The stepping stones had disappeared. The stream was flooded. Fox dug his tiny feet into the

mud.

“Warning!” cried Jack Rabbit.

But the shoreline was dangerously slick. Fox slid headfirst into Crystal Creek. Others followed.

Jackrabbit grabbed Fox by his tale and clung to him with all his might, but could not pull him to safety.

Battling the wind and angry waters, those behind tried desperately to pull their terrified friends from the

flood.

Hail pinged off rocks and skipped along the ground. Lighting cracked. Lighting struck! The

ancient old cottonwood roared in protest. A sinister blinding streak tore down through its massive trunk

and with a deafening crack one large arm broke away and fell into the stream, gathering debris around

it and damming up the already dangerously high waters. It was then the aged tree began to sway.

Father Pheasant, sheltering his brood behind him, stared at the huge tree is terror. He knew if

that great trunk plunged into the creek, the water would overflow its banks. The meadow was flat and

low. The edge of the cliff was too far to run to. There would be no place of refuge. They would all perish.
“Warning!” cried Jack Rabbit.
 He spread his brilliant colored wings and tried to lift himself against the wind, but the tempest

was too strong for him. He cried to the old crow sheltered deep in the trunk of the willow.

“Carry my children to safety, Old Crow. At least save the young.” The big black bird feared for

the little ones. He flew from the willow and threw himself into the gale. The willow branches tore at his

wings and slapped him back against the bark. He tried again but could not prevail against the strength

of the storm. Father Pheasant called out in dismay as he saw the crow flung into the trees. He feared

there was no one strong enough to save them, no one near enough to hear their cries.

“Take heed! Take heed!” Faintly, a familiar call was carried to the ears of those cowering along

the flooding stream. Across the creek and down into the waters flew the great old bird. The wind

battered him. He was blinded by the rain and flying debris. His heart beat hard in his chest. Seizing

Jackrabbit and Fox, he strained his broad shoulder muscles and lifted them from the waters. But Great

Eagle was old, very old. His feathers were worn, his muscles shook with tension. The storm was now at

full force. He cleared the first stand of willows and dropped the two half drowned friends into a dense

thicket. The chipmunks gasped. The squirrels cheered. But just as Great Eagle rose above the thicket the

wind blew down the rock face and slammed into him. Animals watched in horror as he fell to the rocks

below. He lay still. No one spoke. Lizard ran to his aid. The wounded bird lifted his head. Lizard tried to

help Great Eagle rise from the rock but the pain was too much for him. Through the brush the bird could

just make out the small band of animals on the other shore. His wise old eyes filled with tears. If only

they had listened. The storm was at its peak now. No one could stand against it.

“I would have gathered you like a hen gathers her chicks, but you would not.” He whispered. His

magnificent heart cried out with love for his friends. The cry carried through the tempest, over the

canyon rim, across the high plateau and into the courageous heart of Great Eagle’s son. From the

precipice of the towering red cliffs, the young eagle with golden wings hurled himself into the tempest.
The storm was now at full force.
 He dove through the dark clouds and burst into the clearing. He skimmed along the surface of

the meadow reaching His long talons out before him. Snatching the two young pheasants from their

father’s grasp, beating his large wings, he flew across the flood waters and into Old Crow’s willow tree.

Immediately, he turned and launched himself back into the pouring rain.

“Come back. Come back,” cried the crow. “The storm is too strong for you.

“Go back. Go back,” croaked the old bullfrog as he watched the eagle rise above the trees.

“You will surely perish.”

But Great Eagle’s son took no heed. He only heard the cries of the stranded and that of his

father’s heart.

“Will you go, my son?”

“Yes, Father, I will go.” His spirit answered.

Strong of heart and swift of wing, the golden one battled the storm. Again and again he crossed

the flood waters and brought the endangered to safety. He began to tire, but he did not rest. He did not

falter. Raccoon and skunk huddled together at the water’s edge. Soon he would come for them.

“I am strong.” Raccoon boasted. He glanced at a small elm tree overhanging the rushing water.

“I think I could make it across on my own.”

Skunk pulled his friend away from the bank. “What are you thinking? It’s too dangerous.”

“Who needs him?” Raccoon puffed out his chest. “I am strong too. I am fast.” Raccoon climbed

the small elm. He chose the farthest overhanging branch and skittered across its length. It swayed

violently in the wind. He hung on tightly.

“See!” He called to his friend. “I am strong.” And then he fell. Skunk cried out as Raccoon’s head

disappeared under the water. He ran down the shoreline in a panic calling for Raccoon. He couldn’t see

him anywhere. Then he heard a strange cracking sound. Glancing up he saw the old cottonwood lean

over in the wind, and caught in a tangle below was Raccoon.

 “Help him, please!” Skunk cried.

“There’s no time. Leave him,” said the others. “He never believed anyway.”

“It’s too dangerous.” Jack rabbit agreed.

But the golden son heard only the plea of the wounded and the cry of his father’s heart.

“Will you save him, my son?”

“Yes, I will save even him.” Great Eagle’s son answered and rose up into the winds.

“No!” Crow called. “You’ll never make it. The cottonwood is falling.”

But the young eagle, now tired and weary, continued to rise into the gale, strengthened by his

courageous heart and his father’s love. The black clouds swelled about him. He rose higher and higher

until Skunk feared the ravenous mouth of the storm would swallow him. In that moment, the son drew

his immense wingspan into himself and fell to the earth. Swift and true, he dove toward the small black

speck struggling desperately in the water. The aged cottonwood bent dangerously low. The eagle flew

faster and faster. Trees branches broke away as they were swept into the flood waters. Then the great

bird was there, sweeping underneath the huge tree trunk and grasping Raccoon with his claws.

A whirlwind raced down the gorge and entered the hollow with destructive force. The son

spread his wings against the blast of it. For one heart stopping second he hovered over the waters, and

then with a deep breath he brought his wings down and pushed himself into the onslaught. He threw

Raccoon across the remaining expanse. The tempest tore at the battered old cottonwood, ripping the

roots from the wet soil. The ancient tree fell, its massive trunk flung into the winds. Great Eagle’s son

spread his golden wings and drove himself into the tree. The thunder of the impact echoed off the cliff

face. The crash shook the canyon floor as that huge trunk slammed into the opposite bank. The

cottonwood cleared the waters and spanned the stream. The force of the collision shook loose the dam

of debris. Crystal Creek broke free and rushed beneath the cottonwood.
 The inhabitants of Pinion Hollow watched as the young eagle’s strong swift body fell broken and

still into the turbulence, the great expanse of his magnificent golden wings, now weather-beaten and

torn, carried away on the surge. Then, for one brilliant moment, the clouds parted and those wings

suddenly shone like the sun before sinking beneath the dark torrid waters. Darkness returned. The

winds quieted. Rain came down in a soft drizzle. Pinion Hollow lay cloaked in stunned silence.

Skunk climbed up on the fallen cottonwood and skittered across to the center of the creek.

“Come back.” He choked. ”Come back.”

A gentle breeze stirred the tree tops. Great Eagle raised his head. He lifted his eyes to the cliffs.

Then with one great effort he drug himself up on the breeze, and glided away from them, riding the

winds on torn and ragged wings. Skunk watched in awe as Great Eagle laboriously flew towards the

dark thunderheads moving off into the distance. Later, Skunk would swear that just before the ancient

one disappeared into the storm’s black heart, he stretched out his full wingspan, magnificent wings, no

longer battered and broken, but strong and swift, and shining like gold against the darkness.

“Listen closely little ones. In the very early morning, when a storm has passed, and the rainbow

rides the sky, you may hear Great Eagle and his Golden Son calling to each other on the winds.”

Professor Puddles nodded his head slowly. “Someday, they may return. Take heed.”

Landon Lee Zard glanced over at his cousin Zachary and whispered, “Wow.” Zack nodded.

Little Shiloh Grace brushed a tear from her cheek. Reagan Reptile patted her on the shoulder.

Billy Bullyfrog rolled his eyes. “Shiloh, It’s not real, you know. It’s only a fable.”

They all looked to the towering cliffs of Red Canyon.

A faint shrill cry pierced the silence.

A faint shrill cry pierced the silence.