The other night, when I couldn't sleep, which seems crazy after all the drugs I've consumed in order to achieve it, I gave up and was beckoned outside by this glorious moon. The clouds were moving, but only infinitesimally, so that you had to look away for a second and then look back to really see they had changed. The garden was bright, and the bullfrogs croaked in unison! There was scuffling going on in the woods behind us...nocturnal business of some kind. I was reminded of a night when I sat quietly beside the pond, and in the lights on the bushes a small silhouette seemingly fell out of the sky, and onto the gravel path before me. It was about the size of my hand, and busy with something so important that it didn't seem to notice my presence. As my eyes adjusted to the light I realized that it was a very small owl (sawheet I think) eating an even smaller mouse! I was entranced as I shared this moment. I tried to hold my breath for fear of giving away my presence, and then after it was done it turned it's head, in that Linda Blair fashion, looked at me straight in the eyes, and then flew up into the Pines! It was as if he had known I was there all the time, but had given me permission to witness his evening meal, and I felt an extreme sense of privilege that he had! I suppose if there's a moral to this story it must be that sometimes sleep is overrated and maybe something more magical awaits us if we choose to take the opportunity.
