The other night I happened upon an owl, sitting on a fence near our house. Watching him watching me, I felt the momentary dread of the hunted as if this unusual apex predator had the necessary tools and desire to take me down like a water buffalo that has strayed too far from the herd.
The owl in flight is nearly silent, almost as silent as the owl standing there measuring you for dinner. The only time you hear the owl is the ghostly hoot that emanates from deep in the forest just past the mounds of glistening water buffalo skeletons.
Owl eyes are very large in relation to the size of its head, and are more flat than spherical. The eyes are fixed in the orbital socket, and to compensate the owl needs to turn its head to move its eyes. Some species can rotate their heads an Exorcist-like 270 degrees. Yikes.
From its unique behavior and preternatural stillness the owl has developed an extensive and rich cultural mythology. These oral traditions have been passed down through the generations and often depict an owl sighting as a sign of impending death or a harbinger of doom.
In the gathering darkness I can barely make out the owl, there on the fence, and I sense no real threat from this remarkable being. I can only hope that we share a momentary curiosity, and acknowledgement of our place on the planet. He turns and is gone, returning to the wind and the dark; silent, wise and free.
whoisfenton 