A Hoot To the Head

Most evenings I will go outside for at least a few minutes to get some fresh air, gaze up into the sky, and for a moment or two glance around without my eyesight being restricted by four walls. Last night, about 9:30 or so, I put on my coat and stepped outside. I had not been out for a whole minute when I heard the hoot of an owl. Perhaps once or twice a year I will hear an owl hoot coming out of the darkness.

He was a great horned owl. I’m no expert, but I know the difference between the call of a great horned owl when compared to either a barred or screech owl. It’s weird but a whole series of thoughts came through my head when I not only knew the creature was a great horned owl, but that I had that particular knowledge.

My first thought went back to the 8^th grade. When I was an 8th grader I went through an “owl phase”. It lasted a couple of months. It was right after my horse phase and right before my butterfly phase. During my owl phase I was keenly interested in owls. I did a lot of owl research. We lived in Columbus, Ohio at that time and I actually talked my father into taking me to a metro park evening owl program. Those memories went through my head because of a hooting owl. But my chain of thoughts did not stop there.  

I recalled how I used to draw owls during art class, or at least I tried to draw owls. I had a terrible time drawing an owl face. With their two eyes looking forward, my owl etchings always looked too much like a human face, and an ugly human face at that. I remembered the art teacher asking me as to why I should be motivated to draw an old woman with a prominent nose. After that unintended insult, all of my owl renderings were of owls in flight with their wings extended, just to avoid any confusion as to the subject.

Finally, I remembered just a few years ago, my mother showing me some of my drawings of  butterflies composed during that phase. My mother had saved them because she thought they were hysterical. When I saw them a couple of years ago I could see immediately why my mother thought they were so amusing. Most of my butterflies looked something like actual butterflies, but a couple of them looked more like something else. Fortunately I did not have an art class when I went through my butterfly phase. I would have probably been expelled for vulgarity.

It’s really weird, the thoughts and memories that can go through a person’s head in the chilly darkness when there is an owl hooting, a hooting great horned owl, to be precise.