If I go outdoors at night, I can hear the low-throated cooing of owls, what I now recognize as their mating calls. For years I didn’t recognize what I heard on these winter nights as the love songs of owls. The gently mysterious and lonesome call might be the only sound that pierces the quiet of a winter's night.
My sense of it is deepened by knowing that it precedes their mating, nesting and preparing to hatch a brood of helpless little owlets whose survival is totally dependent on the parent bird's soft downy warmth and fierce hunting to provide for them — while the snow flies and temperatur...
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