I miss hearing the whippoorwill and owls. I heard them often as a child, at night, with Mom and Dad in the next room and the world’s problems far away. They are still out there, somewhere, in dark woods at night, doing whatever night birds are supposed to do. Only thing is, I don’t hear them any more. They haven’t moved. I have.
There is wisdom in quiet things, mysterious things. What were those ghost lights at Etta that floated through the darkness, scaring my cousins who happened to see them? When night tiptoes onto the countryside and the river sings its age-old song, and small creatures slip through thick woods, does anyone know or care?
How reassuring it was to wake during the wee, small hours and hear the call of one of God’s night birds. The darkness was not empty or lonely. The owls were awake. Or the whippoorwills. All was right with the world.
It seems to me that the really awful problems of this world, the hatred, violence, wars and murders would not exist or would be greatly diminished if people would hear God’s creatures. If the clamor ceased, we could listen to the owls and whippoorwills. We might hear God’s secrets on the night wind and be at peace.
I still hear a barred owl now and then, more often in the spring and summer. I can’t wait for the whipporwills to return. They are my evening companions as I sit on the porch watching the stars awaken.
Thanks so much for writing. What a nice picture you paint with your words. Owls and whippoorwills–my favorite birds.