A cool breeze blows in the cracked-opened windows from the dark night beyond. It carries the screech, the awk, the unanswered call of a solitary bird. It is the juvenile great horned owl. And tonight it hunts alone.
When sleeps lifts its black veil through the night, until dawn breaks in the morning, I hear the lonely call of the owl.
With first light, the morning chorus of bright tunes fills the air, and the owl is silent.
The daytime birds are social creatures.
A robin gathers twigs, carrying three in her beak to the nearby tree. Robins hop around the freshly turned soil seeking the worms buried beneath.
Birds scout the yard for holes in the trees.
A chickadee moves into a hanging house.
Everybody is looking for a home.
The work of creating a nest for hatching and feeding offspring is the business at hand.
Nearby an owl sleeps until night. Alone.