Singing With the Owls

Dusk was almost done. Darkness had settled around me, but the sky behind the trees across the street still has a dusty grey light.

I sat down in the chair under the Ash tree.

I sat there looking at the western sky. I sat there looking over at the silhouette of the Monterey Oak and the texture of the Cow Pen Daisies and Milkweed and Dill in the fading half light. I sat there catching my breath, something I do a lot of these days.

So I was sitting there, and out of the corner of my eyes something came swooping across the street. And in front of me, a shadow followed an upward curving trajectory with wide wings flapping as it came in for a landing on the limb of a Live Oak Tree.

An Eastern Screech Owl. I knew it was an Eastern Screech Owl. I've seen them in the yard before, and there's an owl house down the street.

I sat with my head turned at watched its shadow perched in the deepening darkness in the canopy of the Oak. And it began to sing.

Now, I must tell you, I can do a pretty good Eastern Screech Owl song myself. So I sang back. And it sang back. And I sang again. And it turned on its perch, and I could see it looking down at me: a slightly cocked head and dark eyes staring straight at that owl song coming from that man sitting in that chair under that tree over there.

And I sang some more. And it sang back. And then another dark shadow on wide wings came swooping from across the street. It landed on a branch in the Ash tree above me, and it sang. And the Owl in the Oak tree sang. And I sang back to them. And they both started singing higher notes of excitement, and one of them a low note that resonated with a deep tone just beyond my whistling range. They sang. I sang. They sang. I sang.

Trudy came out with Guinness, and they listened to me and looked up at the Owls in the trees. And we showed off for them. And Trudy and the dog disappeared down the street on a walk.

And the Owls flew away a few minutes later.

By which time, nighttime had fully set in.

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