Awe
Part 1
Monday morning the temperature hovered around freezing, and I stepped out on our screened-in porch to see how cold it felt. Raucous crow calls assaulted my ears, and I almost instinctively turned to look into the evergreen tree just outside the screen, to see what might be happening. Much larger than the cardinals, blue jays, robins, and wrens that usually perch on the branches, a presence made me catch my breath—so close, so big, and so unknown. All I could see was a large puff of gray. I stretched my head to see more clearly around the branch that partially hid the shape, and slowly the top pivoted around to reveal the face of an owl. I had never before been so close to such a creature (about 14 feet away). The owl looked directly at me and then turned away again, the crows still in a dither.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and took a picture, but the screen between us diffused the clarity. I tiptoed back to the kitchen door and whispered to Wayne, “Come out.” He came and still the owl sat. I grew bolder and quietly opened the screen door, stepping out onto the stoop. Now when the owl turned its head again, we looked at each other eye to eye, nothing between us. Slowly it turned its head away again, and then with all the deliberation in the world it slowly opened its wings and swooped away around the corner of the house.
If ever I wanted to build an altar to mark an experience it was now. All day long, my mind kept going back to the moment I first saw the shape and my awareness of something I can only call presence, perhaps even with a capital P—Presence. I imagine I was only a momentary, insignificant sight to that stately owl, but its proximity, size, and unflappable calm have stayed with me. Now, even days later, I still feel the awe of that moment, the awe of looking directly into the eyes of that stranger who looked directly at me.
My back yard already has enough stone piles, so I won’t build an altar. Instead, I will offer this little altar of words, my humble attempt at a haiku:
Part 2
I noted with satisfaction that whatever frost may have come on Monday morning had not yet touched my rangy patch of zinnias. With knife in hand, I went out after breakfast to see how much of a bouquet I could still salvage from the remaining flowers. This time of year, the flowers may look colorful at a distance, but close-up they are browning on the tips and spotted. I found more fresh-looking ones than I anticipated and was able to arrange them for the table, an activity that always makes me happy, and especially so when I anticipated not having much to work with.
Part 3.
A dear friend stayed overnight Monday night, and we had a fun time together, reading old recipes written in a notebook by my great grandmother Hettie. Right along with “Mrs. Noll’s Chocolate Cake” and “Rhubarb Pudding” are a “cure for stoppage in colts” and “the best cow powder,” nothing any of my current cookbooks include.
At breakfast my friend and I talked about the current challenges in our lives and what gives us meaning. As she left, my heart was full of the richness and connection of our time together. And then I went on my daily walk, feeling full of light, both inside and out. I came home with what I called a fall bouquet, a tradition begun for my son in mono-seasonal San Diego, but also for myself and the sheer joy of the color all around.
I may need to store these times of awe for difficult days ahead, but they come with the reminder that awe continues to exist, that no matter what else may come, the possibility—no, the reality of being touched by life beyond ourselves remains—if we keep our eyes and hearts open.
I am jealous of your interaction with the owl. Owls fascinate me.
I’d have gladly shared my experience with you. I was just glad that Wayne, without any explanation from me, came quietly and didn’t frighten away our visitor.
Kathie, this is just what I needed tonight. I will hold it in the coming days. The week has been brutal. Best friend diagnosed with Alzheimer’s yesterday. She is devastated and almost pleaded to come next week from Ohio to be near me. Along with this my brother, Paul, is very seriously ill at Sentera ? With heart issues. Not to mention Nov 5. Life. It happens.
Thank you…
Yes, It seems that there is a lot of loss just now in my life as well, more than enough to go around, and if we thing globally loss and pain are magnified exponentially. I find that it is in the small happenings and details that hope lodges and we need to keep looking there and claiming the grace that is offered.
A beautiful description of the Presence
OWL- thank you!
Thanks, Lois. It’s nice to see your name appear in this feed. Ever since the retreat I’ve been thinking that you and I ought to get together sometime. I have a feeling we have more in common than we recognize.
The owl was my favorite. I see him seeing you. No wonder they are associated with the idea of wisdom.
Actually, I thought of the association with death, but that is with the call of the owl and the one that visited us never uttered a sound. The wisdom I get. There was something very stately, dignified, deliberate in the way it sat there and had no need to respond to the noisy crows. It radiated peace.
Kathie, you have no idea how much this touches my soul. This is exactly what I needed at this time.
I believe that Beauty and Love often come together. Perhaps God shows us Love through Beauty. Either way, you were given gifts, and you passed them on to us. Thank you!
Yes, those days were full of gifts, and as I said, I plan to hold them in the challenges of the coming days. I am still in awe. The owl was most unique, but time with a treasured friend and former colleague and the beauty of leaves and flowers are also rich beyond measure.
Kathie…I feel so privileged to have been with you on that day of Awe! It was a gift for me, too.
As your presence was to me! Perhaps with so many concerns floating around us, our appreciation for moments of awe are heightened.
Oh Kathie. Thanks so much for sharing these wonderful thoughts and experiences! I was biking one time and I saw an owl on the top of a post. Just a bit above eye level. I will never forget it. I looked for it every time I passed that post but never saw it again. Majestic creatures.
Thanks, Lois! It does seem that owls carry with them an aura of mystery and grandeur that isn’t connected to many other birds. I’m sure there are others that are as awe-inspiring, but I haven’t seen them. I keep looking at the branch where the owl sat, but it remains empty–or maybe I just don’t get up early enough most mornings to see it.