For two and a half months now, I've been faithfully visiting my Great Horned owl nest. Mama is always in plain view. Sometimes I'd see just her head. Sometimes, just a glimpse of her "horned tufts." On occasion, she'd be perched on a limb, preening, opening up her wings, showing off her camel colored feathers. One morning, I circled the spruce for renegade feathers, only to find a pure white downy owlet lying dead on the ground. His eyes were closed but they were enormous. He was approximately one week old. Did mama let go of him, to make room for the others? Did he fall through the branches of the nest? I was so distraught by the sight of this lifeless baby owl, I came home and did some research on why and how these kinds of things happen. I took pictures of the babe in the woods, but you would be heartbroken if I showed you, so I won't.
I went to that tree the next evening, and the owlet was still lying there underneath it. Undisturbed. I thought it was kind of strange that not a raven nor hawk had flown away with it, or some other beast prowling around the forest, wouldn't find it to be a meal.
My dark haired beauty friend K and I visited the nest the next morning and decided to give that little white owl a proper burial if he was still there. He was and we did.
And now, two months later, when we visit the nest, look who's poking their heads out? They are so ding dang adorable I can hardly stand it! Honestly, I cry a little every time I see them. Whispering out loud, I am so lucky to have this opportunity. Pretty soon they will learn to flap their wings and glide in silent flight.
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I had the weekend off and I needed to get away. We hadn't been to the Siver Bullet since Thanksgiving, so it was the perfect destination, where mountain air collide with aspens. On the drive down, signs of spring were everywhere. Faint patches of snow in the prairie fields, hawks on every fence post, baby antelope hidden among the sage, and birds, birds, and more birds. I'm bombarded with bird song, and I love it!
Snow was piled up around the vintage 'canned ham', but was pretty much melted in the non shady areas. With abundant snowfall in Colorado this year, my trees look healthy and the land will have fresh, new growth. First thing's first. I made my rounds to see if I'd had any visitor's over the winter. Well, look at that! Moose tracks in all forms! This is when I do a dance...
The chipmunk, the one who practically climbs up on your lap for almonds, was there to greet us as well. Ravens flew above us and northern flickers, high in a pine, called out their song. It went something like this: wicka-wicka-wicka with rhythmic drumming.
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Early the next morning, C lifted the sleeping bag covering my face, and whispered, you were a real chukker last night. Now, I know you may think that sounds endearing, like perhaps a cute nickname he's coined for me overnight. The truth is, in the middle of the night, I puked my guts out. Must have been that day-glow orange soup I got into. A lesson to be learned. Anyway, I felt perfectly fine that morning, and I was eagerly waiting for my steaming cup of Sumatra to kick in. We always enjoy our coffee high up on the hoodoos, spanning the view of Roosevelt National Forest and the high peaks of Rocky Mountain National Park. It is spectacular, to say the least. Crawling around up there, we discover some Indian bathtubs. I'm sure the Utes hung out here to bathe. Aren't they strange and inviting?
The quietness of the land consumed the rest of our day, as we lazed around reading and writing, letting the feeling of untroubledness fill my heart and mind.
