As a child, growing up in rural Wisconsin, my dad graced our farm with the ethereal presence of peacocks.  Magnficent creatures!  Their iridescent plumage a stark contrast against the rustic backdrop of barns and fields. These regal birds, with their jewel-toned feathers and proud struts, were like living artwork, transforming our ordinary farm into a canvas of natural wonder and beauty.

Forgoing the barn, they often made their way to the top of the house or the barn, but more often than not, into the treetops, where their calls seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Their distinctive calls seemed like a bridge between earth and sky. 

Years later, in a home of my own, John and I brought peacocks onto our farm, to be once again a part of my world. Their return felt like a connection to my childhood, a thread of continuity in a life full of changes. Some of these new peacocks would often wander off (or more likely, they were scared off by prey), disappearing for months at a time. Yet their absence only made their eventual return more magical. The males' magnificent trains unfurled like fans of living gemstones, created a spectacle of beauty that never failed to inspire awe. Though fleeting and sometimes unpredictable, the peacocks' visits were a reminder of the wild, untamed beauty that still exists in our world - a poetic brilliance that, even now, fills me with hope and wonder for what unexpected marvels life has yet to bring.