i know october. october is a friend of mine and let me tell you, this is no october.
i believe the cards are in the forecast for an evening of speedo banding tonight. balmy, sultry…a sweat-inducing night of owls.
not that i’m complaining. the flights have been steady, and save for last thursday-saturday’s overindulgence, completely manageable. 20-30 owls a night is completely manageable.
sadly, the darkened nights are about to give way to moonlight and much of the ambience, the unfamiliarity, will be lost.
i bitch like this once a month.
on what should have been a day outside, basking in cancer-inducing sunlight, i instead canned my last batch of salsa and bottled an overdue batch of highly-hopped, saliva-inducing, chromosome-altering home brew.
i should have been outside…could’ve been a contender, splitting wood and counting the rounds of gunfire from my neighbor’s homestead but no, i was inside, pained by the notion that tomorrow, i will drive my failing subaru to work with the rabbit’s foot, fingers-crossed, “i’ll be good” mantra because, well…my subaru is failing.
i bitch like this regularly.
the ratio of hatch year to adult owls is slowly beginnning to drift towards the seasoned, migratory, uber owls. as a result, i am finding more bands on the birds, which is always a fun process.
a couple of weeks ago, i trapped a bird i had banded 2 years earlier. did she remember this place in this landscape in this season? did she foot me because i handled her poorly or because she carried ambivalence with her for 2 years and came here to inflict pain.
what’s love got to do with it?
as i told the classes from north house folk school: “the band fits on the leg of the owl, kind of like a wedding ring, but doesn’t cause as much pain.”