It sits, still as stone, high above the neighborhood, just above the glow from the window of Libby’s bedroom. She has no idea it’s there, keeping quiet watch, as she starts a new day, its pointy tufts of feathers distinguishing its head as it rotates it from side to side.
It’s undisturbed by the rapidly changing sky, fading fast from orange to pale pink then light baby blue bringing its distinct profile into view. It’s quiet and motionless, no haunting early morning calls to a distant mate, no shifting from leg to leg, no impatience, comfortable to just sit and wait. Then, as if guided by a mystical cue, it pushes off the old antenna, wings spread as wide as a man is tall, swoops low just above our heads, before rising high and disappearing into the neighboring trees and the early morning peace. We hear owls some nights, very late, some mornings, very early, sometimes close by, other times blocks away, but never see them so clearly or so exposed and unprotected, and certainly never had one swoop directly toward us and so low. Now, we just need to know what it means, if anything.
Unreal experience! Great photo and a wonderful poem so well told.
Being visited by an owl or seeing an owl usually means you need to listen to your intuition and inner knowledge. If you encounter an owl, it's best to ask your angels,