waxing philosophically

cold and clear and calm.  no moonlight to douse the landscape with the lighting of a wal-mart parking lot.  stars and galaxies forever.

insignificance.

a perfect storm for early season owling.  

i love not having the moon, more than having the moon.  darkness affords attention, affords connection.  i look up and know the night sky is the same night sky seen by voyageurs and native americans and australopithecus when their heads turned upward in reflection or curiousity or fear or…

…complete self-awareness.

i am nothing.  those stars can be touched, but never reached.  millions of years of conscious humility can be found in each galaxy and here i stand on a gravel road in the middle of everywhere and think i am all that, and more, but i am not.

this is why i owl:  i owl because in every strife or challenge or hardship or loss or celebration or distraction, owling forces me to deal with the totality of life. there are few precedents; each experience is unique. the survey stops have remained unchanged for years, but each stop is different.

in my personal life, i have regularly heard the chagrin and disbelief about my owling passion. i accept that i march to the beat of a different drum, but also, that i am powerless over its pulse.

each owl can be identified by its song or call.  when i hear an owl, i hear the nuance and tempo and emphasis and urgency that remind me of where i have been and also, who has been there before me.

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About borealbilly

i am cursed by nocturnal self-awareness. View all posts by borealbilly

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