Summary

Erika Burkhalter recounts a poignant early morning encounter with the haunting calls of a solitary owl, reflecting on the beauty and cruelty of nature, and the sacred bond between the owl and its missing mate.

Abstract

In "Of Wing and Feather," Erika Burkhalter shares a personal experience of being awakened before dawn by the melancholic hoot of an owl. As she steps into the cold, misty morning, she contemplates the loneliness of the owl, whose calls are unanswered by its mate, usually responsive from the treetops. The poem and accompanying photos capture the essence of the owl's solitude and the raw, sometimes harsh, reality of nature's cycle of love and loss. The narrative takes a hopeful turn as the owl's mate finally responds at daybreak, allowing Burkhalter to return to bed with a sense of peace, reflecting on the enduring connection between the owl pair.

Opinions

The author, Erika Burkhalter, conveys a deep empathy for the owl's apparent loneliness and the potential loss of its mate.
She expresses a profound appreciation for the natural world, despite its often harsh realities, such as the predatory nature of the owls hunting in the darkness.
Burkhalter suggests that nature's beauty is sometimes accompanied by cruelty, particularly in the cycle of life and death.
The author believes in the existence of a sacred bond or "tether" between the owls, which is a source of comfort and connection, even in the face of solitude.
She finds solace in the eventual response of the second owl, indicating a sense of resolution and continuity in the natural world.
Burkhalter uses her experience to remind readers of the interconnectedness of all living things, as well as the importance of observing and appreciating the subtle moments in nature.

Of Wing and Feather

Before the dawn

Before the dawn, I heard the call, the urgent hoot of a wise old owl.

I hugged my arms across my breasts. Perhaps I should have gotten dressed before stepping out onto the deck.

A curtain of mist, kissed by the full moon’s light hovered close and held me tight.

He called again, that wise old soul. I shivered once, not from the cold.

He sounded forlorn, and all alone. A sadness seeped into my bones.

Where was his mate? The one he loved? She normally answers from the trees above.

I rarely see them, these creatures of night. But once I spied them taking flight.

They swooped as one, a flap of wings, two tawny breasts, talons reaching for some poor creature, shrouded in darkness, fleeing, terror seizing its tiny heart.

He called again.

No reply.

How sad it would be if his mate had died, left him calling through the fog, a solitary sentry, his hoots, now a monologue.

The tug of sleep pulled at my eyes. With one last look, I stepped inside.

And then I heard her, from far away, an answering hoot at the break of day.

I smiled then and went back to bed, their haunting cries echoing in my head.

Nature’s beauty is sometimes cruel. To love and lose, is often the rule.

But these two souls belong together. I’ve always sensed their sacred tether, which binds them tight in wing and feather.

The Sacred Tether. Photo ©Erika Burkhalter.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

I hope that you enjoyed hearing about my nighttime vigil on the porch, listening to the owls who live up on the hill behind my house. Although I rarely see them, I hear their cries almost every night. Unable to sleep last night, I stepped out into a cloak of fog. It seemed as a fairy world had been transposed over reality. And then I heard that solitary call….

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