Reading this from the windswept prairies as I imagine that small owl seeking shelter in your doorway. What a gift it is to receive these brief visits from such elusive creatures. I've had brief encounters with owls while on the walking path and I am always moved by the mystery they hold. Thank you for this beautiful offering of owl wisdom, Danusha.
Where I live in the winter, I can most nights here the calls of three kinds of owls, Boreal, Saw-whet, and Great-Horned. All through the long nights, the owls call from one spruce grove to another. Some behind our home, some in front. They are not harmonizing, and likely not even paying attention cross-species, but I love the different calls, complement or dissonant, form a night language of the far north.
Thank you for a few moments to considering owls, honoring our own owlness. Sweet moment to pause and reminisce my own owl experiences. I loved to watch the owls in the trees at Mercy Hot Springs campground south of Santa Cruz.
Owls are so magical, aren't they? Am reading Carl Safina's latest, ALFIE & ME, which takes the reader deep into owl mysteries. He rescued a baby eastern screech owl near death's door, and her rehab took longer than he expected—and went deeper too. Where I live, a glimpse of the beloved native owl, the pueo, is rare and fortunate, and we are blessed now and then with one or two hunting at dusk in the grasslands nearby and gliding silently over our dinner table.
Thank you for the much needed owl magic.
Beautiful. Sweet and simple and beautiful. Thank you.
Reading this from the windswept prairies as I imagine that small owl seeking shelter in your doorway. What a gift it is to receive these brief visits from such elusive creatures. I've had brief encounters with owls while on the walking path and I am always moved by the mystery they hold. Thank you for this beautiful offering of owl wisdom, Danusha.
Yes. Such a gift!
Where I live in the winter, I can most nights here the calls of three kinds of owls, Boreal, Saw-whet, and Great-Horned. All through the long nights, the owls call from one spruce grove to another. Some behind our home, some in front. They are not harmonizing, and likely not even paying attention cross-species, but I love the different calls, complement or dissonant, form a night language of the far north.
Wow. This sounds like a thing YOU could write about. If you haven't already....beautiful. And so evocative the way you've described it.
Thank you for a few moments to considering owls, honoring our own owlness. Sweet moment to pause and reminisce my own owl experiences. I loved to watch the owls in the trees at Mercy Hot Springs campground south of Santa Cruz.
Oooh! I want to try that.
Owls are so magical, aren't they? Am reading Carl Safina's latest, ALFIE & ME, which takes the reader deep into owl mysteries. He rescued a baby eastern screech owl near death's door, and her rehab took longer than he expected—and went deeper too. Where I live, a glimpse of the beloved native owl, the pueo, is rare and fortunate, and we are blessed now and then with one or two hunting at dusk in the grasslands nearby and gliding silently over our dinner table.
I love this note. And will seek out that book.
So o.O O.o So Beautiful! :)
Transportive. What a lens on the world.