26 years on

i remember the first night like it was the back of my hand.  it was an exercise in fear and impatience and irrational thoughts…completely bereft of warm fuzziness.  on thursday, my first night will be relived as i again venture into the night and begin my fourth-to-last round of spring owl surveys. 

apathy has yet to push dogged determination aside. 

come on apathy…push harder…  

i am sure if you were to time travel back to the moment each spring when i become blog happy, the first few posts  would sound remarkably similar.  they will waft through the reconnection and the passion, the anecdotes and yes, the drudgery and sleep deprivation.  then in early may, they will all stop as i apply the hand brake to biologic acuity. 

i mean, jeez…it’s been 26 years folks. 

of course, everything has changed.  i have changed, the landscape has changed, the owl community has changed but…and i don’t need to belabor this point…i still get a tingle of excitement when i arrive on the front porch of nocturnal indulgence. 

reconnection means different things to different people but to me, an owl spring means i am again put into my place. 

humility is never a bad thing.

the anamolous winter is nearly over and for the first time in a while, i will have free run of a forest absent of waist-deep snow. skiing has been served its eviction notice and gardening has taken position in the portion of my brain still accepting synaptical stimulation. 

i have resigned myself to the empirical data and now accept that long evenings without the song of the boreal owl are the new “nocturnal norm”.  but for the next 6 weeks, i will spend my evenings in 3-minute increments and at .5 mile intervals, hoping for new discovery and affirmation that i am where i am because “this” is where is am supposed to be.    

as excited as i can get is as excited as i will be on thursday night.  it will be warm and the roads soft.  i will listen and then voice chagrin and dismay before setting up a homestead on the isle of nostalgia.  but, if an owler is in the woods and he’s sharing anecdotes and there is no one there to hear them, are they really anecdotes?

after 25 years yes, i believe they are.


About borealbilly

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

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