owl companions

Most nights, after I've driven home from an exhausting work day and cooked a meal and put away my things, I find myself sitting in front of my computer screen, thankful for the mindless quality of this time spent distracted from the realities of life, if not for just a few moments.

And then, I hear it.

It's been going on for about a week now: the far-off hooting of a distant owl.

It seems to be just through the pane of the window in front of my desk, but I know it's many feet away, probably deep in the woods.

But he calls. And I like to imagine this owl is like Mary Oliver's wild geese, calling to me my place in the family of things. I think he is, actually.

A few weeks ago I went out into the woods on a Sunday morning (before two feet of snow was deposited on us, that is), and stopped at the edge of the pond to snap up a few photos. Suddenly, I heard a great flapping overhead and looked up just in time to see a huge, boxy owl fly off the pine tree to my right. I don't think I'll ever forget the sound of that enormously loud SLAP SLAP SLAP  as the owl rose up right above my head. It seemed he was there, flying about a tree in the middle of a Sunday morning, to promise me company, to assure me of a connection stronger than that between my fingers and my keyboard or steering wheel.

And these bring me some comfort, however small.