Eden

The haunting call of the great horned owl awakens me two nights in a row. I recognize a hunting duet the first time. The next night, just after 3:00 a.m., a solo voice compels me to leave my bed, dressing quickly to go outdoors onto the deck this January night wearing a nightshirt, slippers, and an old sweatshirt. I tread silently, staring out at the fringe of trees surrounding the marsh, the moon reflecting on the pond. Sounds of nature and peace fill me. The owl, the moon, the creatures unseen – and me – sharing the tranquility of the third hour of a new day.

A meditation, a prayer, amen.

A few weeks earlier – snow days thrill the children and vex the drivers. A week of extra-cold temps flows into a week of record highs for January. Neighborhood children play softball in t-shirts. I witness the turtles in our pond hoisting themselves slowly with their prehistoric elbows onto the cement ledge of a culvert, taking advantage of the 70-degree day for sunning their reptilian bodies. Driving in rural Maryland, a ring-necked pheasant dashes across the road, iridescent colors glinting from its feathers in dappled sunshine. A majestic bird trying to avoid the classic struggles of man against nature, life versus death – even a pheasant’s destiny can change in an instant. A few summers ago, I was driving along with my young grandson in the back seat. He looked across a huge field, stripped unevenly of its vegetation like a corncob at a summer picnic. “Why are they cutting down all the trees? How many new houses do we need? People are ruining nature and they don’t care.” The fears of a grandmother for future generations, the wise old owl, and the wise-beyond-his-years boy.

I mourn with the mourning doves.