I am out on a night walk. It isn’t late; darkness still comes early this time of year.
It is pitch black and very quiet. It is still, no wind, not even a breeze.
On these still winter nights, with the air so crisp and cold, sounds seem to carry more easily; the sound isn’t competing with the wind.
I can clearly hear the far-off noises. A dog barking, a couple of farms away. Our neighbor’s squeaky hinge. A truck, a mile and a half off, coming down the road.
Then Great Horned Owl is calling into the night, from our woods, now a half a mile away. hoo-h’HOO-hoo-hoo. hoo-h’HOO-hoo-hoo.
I feel a kinship with this owl. It, and its relatives, have lived on our property for at least 30 years.
The call of the Great Horned Owl is the very embodiment of January to me. When the Great Horned Owl starts to call every night, it is deep winter.
This call, to me, is synonymous with deep, penetrating darkness, and with cutting, piercing cold. It is the bitter, biting nights, when it hurts to breathe, that I begin to hear the Great Horned Owl.
Many people associate owls with wisdom, but for me, the call of the owl is the call of the mystery of life. It is sacred, and holy, to me. It resonates with something deep in me.
It on is the cold, clear nights, where the stars are an infinite tapestry, when I hear the owl. When I hear it, it is a call to me to stop and become utterly quiet, and to breathe into the night, and to feel my insignificance.
Knowing and feeling my own insignificance means that I can’t take myself too seriously.
To begin to know how tiny and how ephemeral we are, it is a gift.
It is a gift of the deep winter nights and the infinite black sky, and especially, of the owl.
What helps you know your ephemeral nature?
Leave a Reply