the owl

Yesterday, as the Daddy Monkey was tucking the kids into bed, I stepped into our back yard to enjoy a glass of wine and watch the three small owls that have appeared every evening for the past few weeks. Each night at dusk, they call to each other, fly from tree to tree, and eat lizards and bugs.

Soon after, The Daddy joined me, and one of the owls landed on a branch about ten feet in front of us.  She had a loose feather on one of her wings, and we could see it sticking out.  I said to The Daddy, “If only that feather would fall out, I would the the happiest person alive.”

The Daddy, in way of a reply, said to the owl, “Owl, why don’t you drop that feather?”

A few minutes later, the bird flew across the yard, swooping down about two feet from my head!  She landed on a tree behind us.  I turned around and watched her for a few more minutes. Then she flew off, out of our yard, dropping the feather.

I could not stop smiling. And it got me thinking.  The last time I saw these small owls in our yard was when The Girl was still swimming around in my belly, three years ago.  I did some research, and The Owl is a symbol of death and rebirth, and also of wisdom.  The last time these birds appeared, I had lots to let go of, and much to learn.

Today, I am far happier and perhaps a bit wiser, than when these birds first appeared to me. And the magic of last night’s experience lingers.