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High in the Pine

A Winged Warning

By Elizabeth SwedenPublished 4 years ago 5 min read
Uploaded from Unsplash Taken by Meg Jerrard

Absentmindedly I labored my feet into the garage with a bag meant for the recycling bin. The side door to the trash and recycling bins was thin and at that time of year, little defense against the biting cold on the other side. I flipped on the switch next to the door and took for granted the warm light that hung over my right ear as I leaned out. My body was stubbornly attached to the higher temperature of the garage as I hugged the door frame and struggled to deliver the recycling without any commitment to my task. Turning back toward the warmth I heard a thud and screech. I suspected the source of the noise, turned off the warm outdoor light, and ducked behind the door. I opened it slowly to see what I could see in the darkness. A screech over my head came so loudly that I cowered behind the side door and closed it to thwart anything that may want to follow me behind it. I paused to listen and opened the door again. In front of me were the recycling and garbage bins and just behind that is the fence that separated our yard from the neighbors. On their side, the copper yard ornaments that looked like giant metal daisies were spinning slowly and things seemed quiet again. I looked around in the dark and the twin pines in the neighbor’s yard were still and constant. Their presence gave the impression of authority in the dark the way they towered above our single-story houses. I waited for something to break the silence and just as I was all but convinced that what I heard earlier was gone, I was answered two-fold. A screech from on high came sailing down to my ears and my mind went instantly to my little dog. An owl can carry off a small dog if it feels so inclined and while I don’t know how likely the possibility is, I had heard enough speculation on the topic to ignite my concern. For a moment I feared I had walked in on an active hunt but then I heard the other. A higher and fearful screech came from my level on the ground, but nowhere I could see. I ran inside and grabbed a flashlight. I could make out a silhouette high in the leftward pine and illuminated the shape. A white-faced barn owl looked at me. Shocked, I lowered my flashlight. I instantly felt like I had done something wrong. Not shameful but incorrect, like I robbed the owl his protection of night. I assumed the owl was male from his low screech and position on high, but I had no way of knowing. Of my knowledge of barn owls, which was not a lot, one thing I knew was that this beautiful bird was far from home. Something was wrong because he was not meant to stop in my suburban neighborhood. Hardly any mice to hunt and unless they preferred small dogs and cats, they were halted by circumstance rather than choice. The second answer from the silence happened north of where I was standing. A high and desperate screech sounded from the neighboring yard and my feet stumbled forward to try to get a view. I could barely clear a cheek over the solid wooden fence and I decided instead to climb the recycling bin. I was not prepared for what I saw. A lump of white and brown feathers lay on the edge of a dormant brick planter a foot from the fence that separated us. I wouldn’t have known it was an owl if it hadn’t screeched a desperate cry. This owl was in trouble for sure, one of her eyes was half open and she looked dazed. I could see no other injuries but I can only imagine what would have stopped her. Even so, her screech was not a cry for help but more like an answer to a question. I decided it was a female because of the pitch of her screech and nothing more. Perhaps I was looking for a parallel to draw between what I was seeing and what I was going through. I always did place myself in the shoes of the main character if it were a woman, without hesitation. She was plainly hurt and needed to be rescued. But rescue is a human idea and it occurred to me that any help I could bestow may be more of a hindrance than a solution in her eyes. However, help rang from above as the male screeched down to her and again, she gave a wounded reply. I became hyper-alert and was called to the present as I stopped trying to insert myself and thought. What does help look like from an owl? The owl sat high in the pine was at the best vantage point to observe and anticipate any movement necessary to protect her. He called down to her continuously, checking in and remaining steady with the best support he could provide. What I was seeing was behavior akin to love and care and protection and steadiness as best I could understand it from my human ignorance. My eyes welled. I felt the warning in his screech and a duty not to interfere. I did the only thing I could that did not prompt an inner battle and went to the neighbor’s front door. There was an old man living there with a deeply unpleasant wife. They mostly kept to themselves and my interactions with him did not go beyond offering him assistance when his car broke down in the neighborhood one day. I knocked on his door and informed him that a barn owl was downed in his backyard and not to let his dogs out. I asked if I could assist and find a rescue center or haven to call. He rubbed his chin and inclined to the ground and said, “They’re pretty tough birds, best let them care for their own. If they are still there in the morning, I’ll call someone.” I was surprised by his lack of concern but strangely, I trusted him. His age told my impulses to quiet down. His calm spoke to my anxiety. I still felt a pull in my chest but truly felt like nothing was the best thing to do. I looked up at the male swaying on the branch of the pine as the wind picked up and said a quiet prayer for him as he watched over her. I felt like I had seen the most sophisticated story play out in from of me without words or any pretext and walked inside my home with an insight I couldn’t yet identify with clarity. But I knew I had learned something. I went to check in on the owls an hour later and they were gone.

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