Out of the blue came the hoot of an owl.
Sometimes this happens in my back yard. Sometimes in my neighborhood. Sometimes I think it follows me.
It was a very pleasant surprise - three long, slow, low hoots. A pause, then it repeated. A pause again, then it repeated again.
It calls up in me the feeling of the deep woods. Where there are wise animals, knowing old, huge oaks, and the feel of soft, moist dirt underfoot.
The woods are alive with mystery and quiet surprise. At any moment there could appear a deer, a chipmunk, or a giant, black crow.
But what overrides everything is the mood of the woods. This feeling of deep belonging, where trees seem to talk, and a presence hangs in the air.
It seems to understand that I am there, and so it interacts with me.
I was reading about the great illustrators of children’s books of the 19th century, like Ernest Shephard who illustrated Winnie the Pooh, and Beatrix Potter who wrote and illustrated Peter Rabbit.
They had a great reverence for the woods, a knowing of the woods. And it shows in the charm and appeal of their work. You could tell they lived what they had drawn.
Thank you owl for hooting. You reminded me of a very happy place.