“I think maybe the owls are out tonight.”
“I don’t know. It could be morning doves.”
“After dark?”
Whatever it or they are, the sounds are muffled behind a closed window and the susurrus of the air conditioning.
The spirit being willing more than the flesh being lazy, I roll out of bed–a distance of three feet, open the window and reveal the world; its chorus of frogs and the song of the Barred Owl.
He has a distinctive call.
So I reply.
It is a moment before he responds. From hearing the sound of my Owl voice he is probably thinking that as an Owl, I am retarded, (Sorry folks, the politically correct words “developmentally disabled” just don’t convey the proper nuance in Owldom.) but deigns to answer me anyway.
“It’s good enough that he is answering you back,” Wifie says.
The three of us converse long enough–he and I in Owlish, and she to me in English–to drink in the strangeness of it all.
Until I stop.
When he doesn’t hear from me any more, he gives one last Awwww! And goes away to look for other friends elsewhere.
Sometimes the difference between living an uneventful life and enjoying a singular experience can be as little as three feet.
A wonder-filled story! Thank you once again!
Sent from my iPhone
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Thank YOU Patti! 🙂
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Beautiful!
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Thanks M&M! 🙂
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