Too Much Wind for this Tiny Owl.

Image Credit: Photograph by © Christopher Brinkman. All rights reserved.
So Much Wind
Over three days I was luck enough to be able to watch this Eastern Screech owl in a low roost.
I spent about 25 hours over those three days mostly looking at an empty hole.
On this day there was a Cold Front moving through the area, and we were getting strong wind gusts. Every time one of these gusts would come through the little owl would get incredibly worried, and start looking around for predators.
Often times it would jump back into it’s hole and not come out for hours afterwards.
via So Much Wind | Smithsonian Photo Contest | Smithsonian

5 thoughts on “Too Much Wind for this Tiny Owl.

  1. The Owl and the Night Wind

    by R.E. Slater

    The Owl spoke to the grey night wind
    each evening in the gathering dark.

    Each proceeding in twain evensong
    twin sepulchers to night’s hastening drift.

    As night wind wafted in gentle voice
    speaking to a sun-whitened moon greyly lit.

    Shining pale across evening’s restless shorelines
    flashed upon a silvery water’s tumbling wake.

    Each praising starlight’s sustaining graces
    bourne a summertime’s waning warmths.

    Lifted on a weary wind’s ceaseless cares
    across shoreline and seaside’s heaving breast.

    Across burnished swales of darkened dunes
    silent guardians to night’s soundless keeps.

    Then hushed in the willowy strands of poplars
    risen above tipping uneasily their gnarly perch.

    Slipping in-and-out of their bedtime chambers
    coloured in drowsy repose of dappled silhouette.
    Where once was heard a wizened Owl
    beneath windblown canopies now saged.

    Breathing a settled, stilling silence entombing
    no further transgress nor wander its sudden stranger.

    Holding fast the feet of it’s tempted traveller
    absorbed in night’s fleeting dreams and thoughts.

    Transfixed somber evensong’s moonlit sonatas
    playing melancholy notes off its beating breast.

    Beating time with shoreline’s moaning tides
    breathlessly composed to the tilted ear.

    Where wind and moon, wave and tide, bestirred
    temple’d wanderers adrift heavenly altars fixed.

    Pressing forward, not by force, nor will,
    but by passion’s sweet siren songs alluring.

    Each filling evening’s restless grace
    within hidden solitudes of greying light.

    Somberly intoning nocturnal compositions
    where once crept things dark and dread.

    And there inspiring abiding devotion
    before myriad fears fraught and frayed.

    Sped a feebled heart’s restless prayers
    there betrothed a breathless deep.

    Once peering into empty voids and chasms
    like breezes bended upon a rising wind.

    Hearing but only echoing silence
    where no silence had ever been.

    Whispering yesterday’s tumbling tomorrows
    glancing across quicksilver’d rays of joy.

    Becoming one with earth and sky abroad
    Inhaling a deepening bliss preserved.

    Begun on a solitary vespered eve
    glimmering silvery trust and content.

    Knowing all will be well no matter the hour
    Lifted onto the wings of the grey night wind.

    Liked by 1 person

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