The Wild and the Wistful

Umbra and Aura

Far beyond the hum of cities, the grinding machinery and white noise of electricity is an innocent grassy meadow, neatly placed among a wide forest of pine, aspen and willow. The summer evening air hangs thick with the scent of wildflowers and earth. A sweeping violet sky signifies another ending day, another rotation of the planet, another medley of meadow events- from the badger making a den to the woodpecker seeking out wood grubs. In the distance, beyond the mountains' crisp silhouette there is a sliver of stark white breaking over the top: the moon. She rises over a pastel kingdom and her nocturnal subjects arise and stretch, eager for the night. To the human senses it would seem quiet, even lonesome save for the cooling breeze stirring through the pine boughs. But a closer listen would reveal the tiny scratchings of a deer mouse carrying wild strawberries back to her den or the nighthawks' cries interrupted by ethereal booms as they swoop and dive for thousands of insects gathering in thermal air pockets. If one pulled themselves further in they would observe the low commentary of a Great-horned Owl from somewhere deep in the trees as he stirs. There are thousands of critters scuttling and moving about as the dim light of day fades, but none quite so mesmerizing or alluring as the Barn Owl. Her body is a kaleidoscope of bronze and ivory speckled with grey stardust. Talons, sturdy and agile, make good work of catching prey. But her face, perhaps, is the most striking feature: a rounded heart of white gold like a goddess from some ancient tale as described by a wonder-struck poet bewildering the minds of mortal men. If human, I have no doubt, she would put all women to shame. But she is not human and should be celebrated that way.

She prefers the edge of the meadow, where she can remain inconspicuous enough to conceal from prey but watchful enough to know the proper moment to strike. She sits in an old growth Ponderosa Pine, whose bark is thick and trunk home to a plethora of animals who seek refuge among its fortress. For Barn Owl, it is a place of comfort. Her black eyes gaze at her celestial guardian whose glowing ascension into the sky compliments a twilight canvas. Two stars have joined the moon now. Barn Owl shifts her weight slightly and peers down curiously at a beetle on the branch and snatches it deftly with her beak. She returns her glossy black eyes to the sky, her own ethereal moon face mirroring the great sentinel above. She has lived in this meadow since she left the nest. There were other meadows nearby suitable for hunting but this one was best for moon watching.

Tonight the moon was complete. The impeccable roundness made the Barn Owl puff her feathers pleasantly at the sight. It would be a fine night for hunting. Movement below caught her attention. A lone fox meandered the edge of the tree line, briefly stopping to sniff the air, and continued on. She listened. Bats in the open were erratically swooping with their tiny wings, haphazardly collecting their insect meals. She listened again. Then, leaning forward she flew. A controlled free-fall through the air morphed into a sharp arc upward as her lovely wings unfolded from her body. The aerial space above the meadow held her as she soared quickly to the opposing side and settled in a lodge pole pine. Somewhere, a short-eared owl made a brief comment alerting her of his territory within aspens adjacent to her. She had her own opinions about it but withheld them and settled on her perch. Again, she listened. Hundreds of insects hopped and scuttled through grass and twigs. The breeze breathed softly across the bunch grasses. Nighthawks enjoyed their aerodynamic play. There was a vole rooting around below. Inky eyes and a moon face stared intently. Her immaculate hearing worked in a three-dimensional fashion to pin point the vole. With a fierce brevity and intention that only predators maintain, she left the branch and in seconds had the vole in her clutches returning with immediacy to enjoy the first success of the night. She preened afterward but movement once again pulled her from the long length of her primaries. Bobbing her head with interest she watched a male Barn Owl glide effortlessly across the meadow into the trees several trunks away. Haughtily she puffed up. He- just as stunning as she- looked at her to which she let out a rasping screech. He bobbed his head in consideration of her then dove down toward the tall grasses. Without hesitation she followed. If the world was an amphitheater, silence was their orchestra.

They danced in the twilight grey as the full moon hung swollen above. silent black silhouettes against the fading sky, they swooped and circled around each other. The female relished in the gymnastics of pure silence and skilled flight. Low to the grass then lifting high back into the air banking left swirling like autumn leaves caught in a vortex of wind. This was their hour; just after the last evening birdsong, just before all wild eyes of the night were open.

Different Eyes

Tucked respectfully in the trees I had been laying still as stone from my bedroll watching the evening events unfold in the meadow. My partner was asleep already but the show had just begun. We had been hiking through the area and chose the meadow edge to camp for a couple of nights. I knew we picked a good one when the fox padded softly by and intricately winged moths fluttered around like confetti, but as soon as I saw the Barn Owl take her first silent course across the meadow I was enraptured. It was steadily growing darker but thanks to the moon's generosity I could just see her silver outline and another who joined in the interchange. I watched with subdued mirth at their transition between play and hunting. One perched for a few moments on a nearby snag. Then the second feigned attack and both cavorted to into the tree line. To witness such intimate activities among the wildlife was sacred and I dare not move. Even the slightest sound would tell on me and it was not my place to make them feel insecure to their right to life. Soon I was unable to see much movement in the meadow and my eyes grew heavy. An early travelers morning awaited us.

I slept peacefully knowing the feathered guardians of the sky were there maintaining a spirit and presence so highly regarded in my mind. How magnificent, for the owl mind, to to live in such purity. She knows nothing of the constant buzz of signs and lights, is unfamiliar to the churning engines that power a modern human world. How desperately I loved the escape from it all, that wasteful, busy world, packing my bags to walk away and placing myself in a secure way among trees and meadows and wild animal kind. I reveled in the owls' presence and took more familiarity in her world than my own of asphalt and steel. Far from the grind of toil of industry, I anchor my soul to these wild spaces that I know within my heart of hearts is my home as much as it is theirs.

Strange Animals

Three voles and a mouse later, the male Barn Owl fell away from the female and disappeared across the forest, possibly to another meadow, Their delightful episode was over and the female was alone again. Though, not alone, and certainly not lonely. The moon's audience of stars now filled her darkened cathedral. The heart-faced raptor perched on a sturdy branch of a large pine snag; a grandfather tree that echoed of a time it was a Ponderosa Pine, that saw an unimaginable number of moonrises. It had no bark at all and its wood was worn smooth and grey as a river stone. Starlight was softly held in the black orbs of Barn Owl as if the universe itself lived in her eyes. A sudden, wild rabble of coyotes from the hills across the river cut through the night air and died down as swiftly as it came. A long time passed and there came the quietest part of night where even the nocturnal animals found their way to a place of sleep. Shadows became the only changing element, warping the shapes of trees and boulders. Even the sighing air took pause. It's the stillness of time that eases all hearts into respite. Barn Owl closed her eyes- though her ears were still awake- and rested with a full stomach within the dappled glow of lunar light.

The moon had moved significantly across her path when a sound, unfamiliar and jarring came from below the snag. Barn Owl's eyes opened slowly and she tilted her head to understand. Two sounds: one low, one high. Loud rustling. It wasn't the fox as before, nor the nighthawks who had long since moved on. She thought on a night not long ago when two deer had an unpleasant discourse with coyotes. But it wasn't that either. Movement down through the bare branches- a pair of animals walking on two legs. It was no shock to her. She had seen these strange creatures before on separate occasions. Two moon nights ago she heard this pair making odd sounds while moving through the trees. In the previous month, different upright animals came through moving fast on strange, stiff creatures that screamed like lions and scared even the bears to the hills over. They turned meadowlark nests to ruin and were strong enough to pull live trees down. They made invisible thunder explosions that sent blackbirds and deer scattering from the safety of the forest. Squirrels and honeybees disappeared and it was a night the moon was absent entirely.

Barn Owl looked at the full moon tonight who seemed to tolerate these particular animals. As she watched, she agreed. They weren't roaring or moving so swiftly they destroyed nests and burrows. She knew there were different kinds of upright animals, but kept her distance as uprights made sudden movements and were wildly unpredictable nonetheless. Even the flight of bats had reasoning and effort. She was safely perched high up in the snag. This pair was moving quite slow, however, and making subtler sounds than the other animals did. She couldn't help but marvel at how elusive this pair remained since arriving and wondered at what they might be preoccupied with and to what purpose they would rise before the deer or songbird. Knowing neither where these animals came from or where they went was a great mystery but it went against her principles to investigate. She continued to watch as they bumbled around making low sounds. Her eyes were black like a liminal void suspended between spirit and physical and she was obligated to neither in her perfectly beautiful way.

She snapped at a gnat buzzing around her head and blinked one eye. The sky where the moon had entered the world was changing again, heralding the never ending chase of the sun to its lunar lover. A nighthawk cried somewhere over the trees spurring a song of crickets. A robin rudely rushed the moon by harping a solitary note but made no more. Eventually the stars lost interest in the the moons descent and the robin responded with a lonely, chirping aria into the crisp air while a pair of two-legged animals meandered delicately away from the meadow home of the Barn Owl. Not until they disappeared long into the forests embrace did she pull herself skyborn to find a considerable pine fit for shade and sleep in a different meadow, where she would wait for yet another night while the daytime rabble had its share of activity. The sun was unfit for a stunning, starlit creature such as herself who embodied the fulcrum of nocturnal wonders and bewitched even the most sensible of animals, two-legged or not.