A large shape, which did not follow the regular pattern of thin and angular branches on a tree, caught my attention. The shape turned out to be that of a great horned owl.
The early evening was dimming by the second as I drove down a main road lit up with street lights, illuminated parking lots, and glowing business windows. But just before this brightened stretch, in a place that remained darker, clusters of trees stood alongside the road. There was something different about one of the clusters. I did a double take, eyeing one branch in particular that jutted out on its own at a fork of the tallest tree. A large shape was on top of the otherwise thin and angular branch and looked slightly out of place. But it was not out of place at all. It was an owl.
I pulled over into a convenient outlet near this little plot of trees and watched the raptor perched on the branch. The size, shape, and feather tufts on top of the owl’s head told me that this was a great horned owl. Its gaze was focused on a dense patch of grasses and shrubbery that grew just in front of the trees. Then there was movement. The owl lowered its body and launched itself from its perch. Quickly and silently, the owl glided down into the overgrowth and disappeared.
I stayed where I was, seated in the car with anticipation, waiting for the owl to fly back up from the ground. The owl was likely pursuing some kind of prey that its incredible sense of hearing or sight registered. Perhaps it would carry a catch in its talons as it flew back up and away. But I could only wait a few moments before the errand that I was running in the first place finally tugged me away, so I did not see the events that unfolded.
After the errand was completed, I drove down the same road and made sure to look at the cluster of trees where I saw the owl, but no owl was there. I scanned the area, inspecting surrounding trees. No owl was to be seen.
The great horned owl might not have been there, but the empty branch where it had perched earlier that evening did not seem truly empty. The owl’s presence lingered there. In my mind, I could see the owl with its dappled plumage and huge eyes as it sat on the branch that prominently stuck out from the rest of the tree as if it were a stage in a theater showcasing anyone who graced it. Every time I have made a trip down this road since that night, I have visualized an owl in that tree. And I see owls at other locations where I have previously seen them. The same goes for other birds. And opossums. Skunks. Salamanders, and the like.
When I see any kind of wildlife in any given setting, I will associate that setting with that wildlife even if I never see it in the area again. Memory works this way. Such association provides a certain enrichment. The great horned owl that I saw that one early evening might not be physically occupying that perch at this time, but its presence occupies it in my mind’s eye, and I am happy to be able to continue to see the owl. The initial sighting and the recollection are treasures.