The two of them sit high atop two giant pines about 100 yards apart, two out-of-sight sentinels keeping watch over our silent neighborhood. Two perfectly still silhouettes, their forms occasionally, faintly revealed by a nearly full moon, you have to work hard to make them out as their tufted heads and dark feathered bodies blend invisibly into the branches and needles of the trees.
Reclusive and stealthy, making no sounds other than exchanging their alternating hoots, performing their duet of desire and longing early in the dark winter morning. With a nearly imperceptible whoosh, one descends from its perch and glides to the other, settling high and deep into the tree, fully out of sight. The hoots subside, replaced by rustling branches above and muffled utterances of what I imagine two great horned owls likely do in the wee hours of a chilly January morning.
Owl love. Warms a cold winter’s night.
Whooo me?
Yeah. You're the next swoop.