Seattle is in the middle of construction hell these days. Along with the usual summer pothole fixes and repaving, there are highway projects to make way for light rail, existing light rail projects that seem never ending, a planned tunnel to replace the seafront viaduct that has been put into stasis by a giant drill named Big Bertha that got stuck on an unexpected piece of rock. And we’re a few years into a multi-year project to get a new bridge across Lake Washington that will replace the existing 520 floating drawspan.

I cross that bridge at least a couple times a week. The lanes change almost weekly, going from old and bumpy to new and smooth and back again as the lanes get demolished, created, and reconfigured to meet the needs of the new bridge. There are trucks that pull out in front of me — slowly — blowing dirt and muck. My poor Prius (I call it the Sanctomobile) is a dusty mess.

The rebuild’s purpose is to improve traffic on a roadway that is more than 50 years old and has to be closed down when wind gusts more than 50 miles per hour for 15 minutes. But the construction means the bridge closes many more weekends and nights than it used to. And the construction itself leads to the draw span opening multiple times a week for boat traffic. In all the years I lived here before the construction started, I only experienced one bridge opening, and it was a scheduled opening, late at night.

All this could make for a depressing drive if you didn’t know that on the other side, on almost every morning, sits a glorious eagle, perched on a light post. A couple years ago, the resident light-post eagle was Eddie, who was hit by a bus and killed. Ava, his mate, found a new guy, Albert. He’s the post sitter I wave at every time I see him.

This afternoon on my way home, though, I saw both birds. According to Larry Hubbell, whose Union Bay Watch blog often includes news about the raptors (and other birds), and who took the pictures I’ve included, Ava is joining her mate possibly because she’s given up on her eggs for the season. Maybe she’s getting too old, or maybe it’s just this year. I hope they try again. I can’t tell you how much it makes a lousy traffic-laden dusty drive easier, knowing that I can glance skyward and see such a beautiful bird.

Sometimes, it’s the little things, right?