The owls are calling here just at sunrise. I have not heard them for a long while. Months. Their big hoots are deep and chesty, full-throated and bold. Sometimes at dusk when they are hunting, they will be in the very low branches of the trees. I have walked up and tried to call to them looking them in the eyes. They are having none of that. The look they shoot back sends chills down my spine. They just don't want to be friends, I guess, and good for them. I was walking through a swampy slough just after sunset one night while there was still enough light to see shadowy shapes as I walked a path bordered by high grass. I was worried about snakes and perhaps a migrant alligator traveling the creek to get from one lake to another. I stepped gingerly concentrating on my feet when a big shock wave of air hit me. I dropped to the ground, my heart racing. I saw it, the big owl that had just brushed me, heard the rushing of its wings. Another night, I was riding in a girlfriend's convertible, again just at dusk, down an oak-lined street. I turned around for some reason and saw a big owl following us down the street just above and behind us. I watched him and he watched me for a solid fifteen seconds at twenty miles per hour.
Man, those big owls. They are something.
| There are over 100 species of owls. The owl is a nocturnal bird that has great vision and hearing. Owls can adjust in an instant from a telescopic to microscopic focus. The pupils respond in a fraction of a second to very minute changes in light intensity. The owl's eyes are especially adapted to detect subtle movements. They also have light-sensitive cones and rods in the retina to help with this. Contrary to popular belief, the owl can see very well during the daylight. Even in the darkest night, with its acute eyesight an owl can pinpoint the exact location of its prey. Its hearing is just as keen as its eyesight. The ears are asymmetrical, and one ear is usually larger than the other. They are also located in different positions of the head. This dramatic asymmetry increases the perceptive auditory ability of the bird. The owl can see and hear what others cannot. Like humans, they blink by closing the upper eyelids, giving them a human expression that has added to their mysticism. |
Mythology |
| The owl is the bird sacred to Athene, goddess of wisdom. As her companion, Owl perched on her shoulder and revealed unseen truths to her. It had the ability to light up her blind side, enabling her to speak the whole truth. Owl was the guardian of Acropolis. It is the traditional attribute of seers, symbolizing their gift of second sight, exercised by their interpretation of omens. In Greek mythology the owl is represented by Ascalaphos, son of Acheron and the nymph of darkness. It was the owl which saw Persephone swallow the food of the Underworld (a pomegranate seed) and denounced her, thus removing whatever hope she had in escaping forever to the light of day. The owl is one of five totem animals central to British tradition, imparting the wisdom of objectivity and detachment. The Plains Indians believed that the owl had dominion over the night, hence owl feathers were used in some rituals. The owl may equally be regarded as a messenger of death and consequently ill omen. In the apocryphal Welsh tale of that name, the owl was one of the "Ancient Things in the World," replete with wisdom and practical experience. |
Associations |
| The owl is associated with the mystery of magic, clairvoyance, omens, silent wisdom, and vision. It is a symbol of the feminine, the moon, and the night. It has been called a cat with wings. While humanity is afraid of the night, the dark and the unseen, the night is owl's friend. To the Pawnee it was a symbol of protection. The yellow coloring of the eyes is symbolic. It makes the eyes much more expressive, but it hints of the light of the sun, alive in the dark of night. Native Americans believe that one who works with owl medicine will be able to see and hear what others try to hide. According to Native Americans, if Owl is your personal medicine, no one can deceive you about what they are doing, no matter how they try to disguise or hide it from you. |
ah . owl stories.
ReplyDeleteIt was about 5:30 am and the puppy was whining to go out -- there is a sort of berm in the back corner of the yard -- a large pine tree had fallen down there as well -- I stood in the gloamy light, barely awake and saw a large odd shaped figure sort of squatting on the fallen trunk -- so slowly it turned its head -- like it was on a swivel and these giant yellow eyes met mine. I looked around for someone to tell --
of course there was no one but the puppy.
another -- my first or second winter on Cape. I was sitting eating lunch in the beach parking lot in February -- the wind was howling and the waves splashing on my windshield -- there on a post -- a pure white snowy owl -- again, alone with no one to share.
i heard the owls the other morning too. we have them living in the 7 acres across the street -- sometimes in winter we go out with flashlights. Owl Moon was always a favorite bedtime story. and Mary Oliver's owl poems are often so right on the mark. I'll leave one.
Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard
His beak could open a bottle,
and his eyes - when he lifts their soft lids -
go on reading something
just beyond your shoulder -
Blake, maybe,
or the Book of Revelation.
Never mind that he eats only
the black-smocked crickets,
and the dragonflies if they happen
to be out late over the ponds, and of course
the occasional festal mouse.
Never mind that he is only a memo
from the offices of fear -
it’s not size but surge that tells us
when we’re in touch with something real,
and when I hear him in the orchard
fluttering
down the little aliminum
ladder of his scream -
when I see his wings open, like two black ferns,
a flurry of palpitations
as cold as sleet
rackets across the marshlands
of my heart
like a wild spring day.
Somewhere in the universe,
in the gallery of important things,
the babyish owl, ruffled and rakish,
sits on its pedestal.
Dear, dark dapple of plush!
A message, reads the label,
from that mysterious conglomerate:
Oblivion and Co.
The hooked head stares
from its house of dark, feathery lace.
It could be a valentine.
will you please contact me about possibly using some of your photography to illustrate one of my short stories? I don't see an email address anywhere on your blog.
ReplyDeletecheers
gregor
L, I have fallen in love to owls calling, but I think that I was the only one. How can they not hear?
ReplyDeleteGregor, Contact me at cafeselavy@gmail.com.