Thursday morning as we drank the first sips of coffee and wondered if we had Covid, I heard the dog barking at the woods with alarm, and went to see what was up. As I stepped out into the dark at the edge of the bluff, I saw the crescent moon low in the eastern sky, and heard a barred owl in the nearby trees, tall cottonwoods normally ruled by red-shouldered hawks. When I looked for it, it went quiet—maybe it saw the black metal glisten of my unlit flashlight—emitting another call only when I turned away. A cooing variation on its hoot-hoot-hoo-hoo, sounding comfortably settled at the end of the night, probably savoring some small furry creature of the field.
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