Evening light has all but left us.
I step out from work, now, into darkness, ever more thankful for the morning’s glow.
To catch a sun creeping across the field of teasel.
Tones of brown set ablaze, mist rising.
Caught on the edge of the high barn roof.
Then tripping, face-first, upon the old brick house,
beyond the gravel drive.
From this spot at dusk, we hear an owl,
from the depths of the blackened woods, calling.
His voice, a new cry in the night.
An invitation into his world.
In the dark, this year, I will go there.
My small light, where there is none.
After years of hearing Barred Owls in our woods, we now hear a new call. The hissing screech, that could be either a Barn Owl or juvenile Great Horned Owl. What better way to appreciate the darkness of fall and winter evenings, than to become better acquainted with our owls.
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