March Forth
Today I was walking at Biscuit Run Park in central Virginia with a friend. It was the middle of the day—around one o’clock—cloudy but warming, that particular early-March atmosphere when the woods feel as if they are quietly beginning to wake up. It’s quiet, the ground is muddy, yet you can feel the energy of life all around you.
Within just a few minutes, three things happened.
First, something bright caught my eye on the forest floor. Two feathers lying near each other, glowing with a vivid yellow shaft. I looked up what they were: Northern Flicker feathers. Flickers (a species of woodpecker) carry that unmistakable yellow flash, a streak of sunlight that usually only reveals itself when the bird takes flight.
Not long after, a large hawk passed overhead—broad-winged, solid, unmistakably powerful. We couldn’t say with absolute certainty which species it was, though most likely a red-tailed hawk, common in these woods. And it had something in its talons.
Then, from deeper within the trees, we heard the call of a Great Horned Owl.
In the middle of the day.
We stopped and listened, a little in awe of hearing the deep resonance of the great horned owl.
All of this happened within just a few minutes.
And at that same time, the daughter of the friend I was walking with was in labor, bringing her baby girl into the world.
Now, I have long believed that nature speaks in symbols—not necessarily in a literal or prescriptive way, but in the language of patterns, timing, and resonance. Moments when the outer world seems to mirror something unfolding within or around us.
Two Northern Flicker feathers.
A hawk circling above.
A Great Horned Owl calling from the woods.
And the date itself: March 4.
A phrase hidden inside the calendar: March forth.
Move forward.
The symbolism of the birds felt almost archetypal.
The flicker feathers first. In many traditions, feathers represent messages, vitality, the life force itself. The Northern Flicker’s yellow shaft is like a line of sunlight through the feather—energy, warmth, the spark of life. Finding two of them together, just as a new life was entering the world, felt like a quiet acknowledgment of that arrival.
Then the hawk, moving through the sky above us. Hawks have long symbolized perspective, vision, the ability to see the larger terrain. A reminder that life is always unfolding on levels we cannot fully perceive from the ground.
And the owl. The Great Horned Owl, calling out in daylight, crossing the usual boundary between night and day. Owls have been associated for centuries with intuition, deep knowing, and the mysteries that live just beyond ordinary sight. Their presence often marks thresholds—moments when something is shifting from one state into another.
Feathers.
Sky.
Voice from the woods.
Release, perspective, and wisdom appearing in quick succession.
And all of it happening as a baby girl is beginning her life.
Early March is a threshold time in nature. The woods are still winter-bare, yet the subtle movements of spring are already underway. Raptors become more active. Birds prepare nests. Life begins reorganizing itself for the season ahead.
It is a moment between worlds.
Perhaps that is why the phrase hidden in the date feels so fitting.
March forth.
Not with force or urgency. Not because everything is fully known. In fact, not much is known at any given moment.
But because life itself is always moving forward—through birth, through change, through cycles we only partially understand.
Sometimes the signs are quiet: a flash of yellow on the forest floor, a shadow crossing the sky, the deep call of an owl where we least expect it.
And sometimes they arrive all at once, as if the world itself pauses for a moment to remind us:
Life is always renewing itself.
And so we do the same, in awe and wonder at what is all around us when we are present.
March forth.
When the forest gathers its symbols at the very moment a new life enters the world.
