The Eagle and the Crow

The universe is speaking. Be in the present moment to hear what it's saying.

I took this photo during my Friday walk in Lemon Bay Park.

Last Friday morning, I saw a bald eagle.

I was out for a walk on a trail I love, when I looked up and spotted it perched high in a pine tree against a brilliant Florida sky. I stopped and watched for several minutes. There was something about the bird’s stillness, the way it sat majestically surveying the landscape, that felt ceremonial. For years now, the eagle has belonged to Bix; it is his spirit animal.

I realize that statement may make some people uncomfortable. There are those who believe a bird is simply a bird and that assigning meaning to its appearance is wishful thinking. I understand that perspective. I just don’t share it because I know the universe operates as an interconnected whole, constantly communicating through patterns, synchronicities, and energy. Recognizing these signs allows us to align with the natural flow of life and the energy of those who can no longer communicate through human speech.

After losing my son, I began noticing that life was far stranger, more mysterious, and more interconnected than even I had ever imagined. An eagle would arrive during moments when I most needed reassurance. One appeared right after Hurricane Ian, which struck only days after Bix died. Others swooped over my house during difficult anniversaries and ordinary afternoons when grief arrived unexpectedly while I was doing the dishes or trying to write at the little desk in his room that I now use as my work space. The last time I “saw” Bix, just a few weeks ago in Crestone, CO, he had enormous wings, something I had not seen on him before.

The eagle has long symbolized vision, courage, resurrection, and spiritual perspective. It flies higher than most creatures and sees farther than most, too. When I see an eagle, I am reminded that there may be a larger view available than the one I currently possess. I am reminded that love isn’t limited by physical death.

When I see an eagle, I think of freedom. Liberation. I think of a soul no longer bound by the limitations of a physical body. Eagles are a powerful symbol of divine connection, unshakeable courage, and a higher, broader perspective on life. Because eagles soar above the clouds, they are widely revered as messengers between the physical and spiritual realms. Most of all, eagles represent Bix and those like him (and there are many).

When I returned home from my walk, my across-the-street neighbor Debbie was calling my name, excited. “Karen! Karen!” I ran over, thinking she needed help. “Look at our crow,” she said, pointing to a big black American crow eating nuts from a dish she had placed in her garage. I thought, "That’s wild!” We both had a bird experience that morning

I told Debbie about the eagle I had seen, all the while Raven (yes, we named the crow immediately) was squawking, trying to get our attention. Crows are quite chatty.

Debbie listened, smiled, and then said something that immediately caught my attention.

“That’s terrific. But the crow is right here, right now.” She pointed toward Raven. Oh Debbie. You’re on to something.

As it turns out, the bird wasn’t simply visiting. He had moved into the skirt palm in my front yard, and planned on making friends. In fact, I, too, had encountered Raven before. It likes to sit on a planter next to my mailbox and tell me about the sort of day it’s had when I go to check the box.

Here is the healthy American crow, Raven, in my palm, where it has built a nest. My photo.

Day after day, he appeared, watching, surveying, studying the humans who passed beneath him. Debbie had decided to cultivate an intentional relationship with him. Crows are notoriously intelligent creatures and have been known to form tight bonds with humans. I have no doubt Debbie will turn Raven into a trusted friend. I consider her an animal whisperer of sorts. She’s also made friends with a few rabbits, a turtle, a rescue cat, and horses she keeps at a stable down the road. Those are just the animals I know about.

Part of what made Debbie’s comment resonate is that she understands child loss and all the uncomfortable and sometimes unacceptable feelings (to those who have not lost children) that come with it. Her niece was like a daughter to her and died on the same date that Bix would later die, although in a different year. Neither of us claims to know what that means, but we know it means something. We’re comfortable with notknowingness. The matching dates are an inexplicable intersection of life on the human plane. Shared grief creates its own language. Very little needs to be explained because the other person already understands what words cannot adequately convey.

Debbie also had a special bond with Bix. I remember her telling me that on the way to his memorial service, she was stuck in traffic, but it suddenly cleared, and she made it to the funeral home right on time. “I said, ‘Bix, do something, I have to be there,’ and those cars just started moving,” she later told me.

Crows, like eagles, have important spiritual meaning. Seeing the crow right now is auspicious. I’ve never had one put down roots in my Florida yard, and we've lived here since 2018. Spiritually, crows symbolize transformation, intuition, and a connection to unseen realms. They act as messengers of change and spiritual wisdom, reminders to trust our inner voice, shed outdated habits, and embrace new chapters in our lives.

Crows are widely regarded as powerful catalysts for personal growth. Their appearance often signals that a significant life transition is underway. They also serve as guides between the physical and spiritual realms, helping souls transition or delivering messages from ancestors. Because of their extraordinary problem-solving skills, crows represent heightened intelligence, psychic abilities, and the clarity to see through illusions. I’ll take all of it.

Grief changes the way we see the world. People who have experienced profound loss can become students of attention and cosmic information if we can get out of our own way. We can notice things that other people rush past. The butterfly that appears precisely when we are thinking about someone we miss, or the feather floating down from a cloudless sky. We notice the song that comes on the radio at exactly the right moment, the dream that feels more real than waking life, or the unexpected encounter that arrives when we need encouragement most.

The eagle reminds me that love and trust continue. It reminds me that Bix has got me covered—something he has explicitly told me. The crow reminds me that life evolves and new beginnings continue. Between the two of them lies a truth I am still learning every day: we do not have to choose between remembering the people we have lost and fully inhabiting the lives we still have. We can do both at once.

Not every bird is a messenger, and not every coincidence deserves to be elevated into a spiritual event. At the same time, I believe the universe is far more alive and communicative than most of us have been taught—certainly more than I was taught. Whether you call it God, spirit, consciousness, divine intelligence, source, or simply mystery, I believe there is an ongoing conversation taking place all around us. The problem is not that messages are absent. The problem is that most of us are too distracted to notice them. Both birds made me stop, pay attention, and feel connected to something larger than myself.

Standing there with Debbie, talking about birds, loss, and the strange ways life unfolds, I realized that perhaps these two birds represented two different aspects of my own journey—one on the spiritual plane and the other on the human plane.

We need reminders that the people we love are not gone forever, and that we are still participants in this world. We need symbols of eternity, and we need reasons to remain engaged with ordinary afternoons.

People often ask me how to see signs and know whether it’s “real.” I don’t think there is a formula. Signs arrive on command, nor can they be forced. What I do believe is that they are more likely to be noticed by people who communicate with their loved ones and pay attention.

I have another friend who lost her daughter just over a year ago, and she’s frustrated that she doesn’t hear from her. I have heard other bereaved parents lament this. I didn’t hear from Bix in the first year either, even though I am sure he was communicating with me. The fog of grief was just too thick. Over time, as the fog thinned with the help of plant medicine, journeying, and other spiritual work, the signs and messages became clearer. I never went looking; I just became present, and they emerged.

Don’t try too hard. Stay in the moment, and they will come. Take the walk. Look up from your phone. Notice the butterfly. Look at the feather. Remember and jot down the dream that lingers after you wake. Listen to the song that arrives with impossible perfect timing. Observe the bird perched on a tree. Most important of all, talk to your loved one. They’re listening. They want to hear from you. I wrote about that here, among other essays.

Sometimes the messages we receive are not about leaving this world behind. Sometimes they are invitations to stay.