who whowhowho who who.

it is the hoot of a great horned owl, floating through the dark night and into my bedroom window at thirty second intervals.

like the rattling bugle call of the sandhill crane, the low, deep, full call of the owl touches me deeply, in the place that is always wordless.

who whowhowho who who.

it says:

be still.
all is well.
be still.

(and of course, that’s not really what the owl is saying, because the call is not directed toward me at all. but at the same time – i hear both the owl and my heart say – it really is.)