Of Owls and Men
Early this morning, while it was still dark, I came across both an owl and a man. I was much more impressed with the one than the other.
At about 5:30 this morning as I was out on a run I saw a big fluffy animal move from one branch to another in the tree above my head. My first thought—it was early and I wasn’t totally with it—was, “I didn’t know raccoons could fly!” Then, of course, I realized what it was—a beautiful owl, about the size of a housecat.
I stood still and looked up at it; it stayed still and looked down at me. It was about 10 feet above my head and I could hear it trilling quietly in the dark.
After a minute or so, an older gent came shuffling down the street. I’ve seen him before at that hour in the morning—usually on Sundays—and he is always the picture of misanthropy. He shuffles along with his head down and gives off the impression that he hates the world and everything in it. Which, it turns out, he does.
I was really excited about the owl, so I called out to him, “An owl! There’s an owl up there!”
To which he replied, without slowing his shuffle:
“Bunch of assholes—I hate ‘em. Fly down and attack you.”
I was surprised and responded, “Attack people?”
He said, “Yes. That’s why they’re called ‘Screech Owls.’” And he kept going.
I guess it’s theoretically possible that one, over the course of a lifetime, could see so many owls in the dark before dawn on a beautiful spring day that one would become bored with the wonder of it, but I doubt it.
It really is true: wherever you go, there you are.
P.S.
I’m pretty sure it was an Eastern Screech Owl, and this was the sound of its quiet trill: