The owls are saying good bye to me. Every night in my sleeplessness, I sit in the quiet of nature that surrounds me on Dove Hollow and listen to nature all around me.
The frogs sound out early at dusk and welcome the nightfall. The moon rises to light the sky with blue light beams. The "better to see you my dear" as the coyote hunts. My tears of loss return for the kitty they ate in my backyard just one full moon ago. RIP- Cotton
The call of the mockingbird that never sleeps has become commonplace. I recall the earliest days of our move to California when I first heard the birds talking at night. It was new to me and kept me up at night. Now, it is a welcome lullaby.
The rare magical sight of a deer bounding down the hill. Crossing the road in my headlights, bedding down in the tall grass behind the Pepper trees. Sigh...
The owls that inhabit my trees and hunt in my fields are dear to me. Mostly Barn owls and the more elusive Great Horned. Seeing them in flight takes my breath away.
If you have ever shared a glass of wine in my backyard with me, you know about my owl calls. I speak their language. I keep Mag-lights by the french doors and shine them in the treetops. I call to them and they answer back. I have had up to three join me in a chorus of conversation. When the call out- I don a coat and my flash light and head out back to the pool patio. It may be the mating season, or the fledglings are out learning to hunt? Whatever is happening- the owls are out and calling to me nightly. I am saying good bye. Whoo-whoo, whoo-whoo. That is our song.
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