I Heard an Owl (Carrie Newcomer)

Many of you may recall the blog post detailing my owl encounter four days before Eric's Celebration of Life on October 14, 2023.  I believed then, and, even if it never happens again (although I certainly hope it does), I remain convinced it was a visitation from my son.

Going forward, owls have been appearing everywhere (isn't that always the way things happpen?), on my own radar and stories from others; as I shared my tale with long-time besties Michele and Rox, they too offered up their past histories, neither of which I knew about.  My sister-in-law Pat, a wonderful potter (who is creating a new urn for E's cremains; no rush!), made me a beautiful owl pendant, which I have added to my keychain.

I am also more seriously contemplating something I spoke of in my part of the eulogy:

"So far, he's given us signs of rainbows... and an owl appeared to me that I am sure was a visitation.  And, even though I've declared a moratorium on tattoos ("seven is the number", sings Dave Carter), if I hear Eric's voice whispering in my ear that it might be time for more ink, one of you will be getting a call to accompany me."

It might very well be time (no spoilers yet, but I already have three contenders).  

This morning, when I was transferring last year's calendar dates over to the new year's clean slate of schedules/agendas/commitments... July 2023 jumped out at me (see images above and below).  We all know that July 28 is Eric's birthday, right?  Freaked me the f*ck out (and of course I had to share with M and R immediately!).

So, as my carefully-chosen Word of the Year is Be Present/Now... you can bet I'll be on the lookout for more owls to guide my path or, at the very least, keep me company.  I am mindful and comforted and grateful, oh my... 🦉

"When you see owls everywhere or they recur in your dreams repeatedly, pay attention," says Harmon-Luber. Mello agrees that if you continually see owls, they want to get your attention. "Our spirit guides are sending messages, and they'll keep sending you signs," she says.

"Have you ever stared into the owl's eyes?" ~ Robert Penn

Yes. I. Have... 💞

SONG:  I Heard an Owl by Carrie Newcomer

BOOK(S):  In Search of the Owl: A father's death begins a quest for a deeper understanding...of life. by Jean E. Sidinger

Crossing the Owl's Bridge: A Guide for Grieving People Who Still Love by Kim Bateman

POEM:  Owls by Liza Katz Duncan

And maybe this is all we get: a chilly evening,

           5:30 and the sun should still be out. Instead October’s

                      Full Blood Moon has come and gone

over the hospital parking lot. The crickets’ warning song

           has already begun. My body, we’ve learned, has forgotten again

what to carry and what

           to discard, like those owl pellets we dissected in the fourth grade:

                      here the jaw, there the shoulder blade of some smaller creature.

I imagine an ossuary blooming in my gut, a stone well

           of tiny bones, ancestors tunneling through the cartilage,

though of course I know this is impossible: ancestors

           are supposed to stay dead.

A graveyard forgets more than we know. Names obscured

           by time and weather, grass

                      grown over a stone. So, too, a body.

Mine has forgotten so much. Has forgotten

           rhythms: stars, bird calls. But as we pull in the driveway

that night, a Great Horned Owl, then another,

           chanting their duet—first the female,

then the male, slightly deeper. The evening carrying

           their song through our open window.

I will never be an ancestor. In a few days my body

           will miscarry for the fourth and final time. And maybe

                      this is just what we get: you, me,

calling each other in the dark. Love: the one,

           then the other. A book, two opposite pages

kissing. A glass house. Outside, constellations

           in a quickening sky. Owls finding each other in the dark.

Season of Owl by Beth Weaver-Kreider

This is the season of owl,

of winds that howl through the hollow,

the season of the sharp bark

of the fox, voicing longing in the bosque.

This is the season of bitter,

of fierce flakes feathering cheeks and hands,

the season of crystal, crisp and cutting,

of beauty that will slice you open.

This is the season of rising,

thin and pale, into the dawn air,

but also of burrowing, huddling deep

into the layers that hold you.

Walk the thin line of today with care,

one foot precisely placed, the other. . .

Perhaps you will notice,

when you raise your eyes for a moment,

how the line curves out ahead of you,

bringing you

always

back home.

QUOTE(S):  "An owl sound wandered along the road with me.  I didn't hear it - I breathed it into my ears." ~ William Stafford

"You don't need anything but hope. The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining owl moon." ~ Jane Yolen

"If we cannot sing of faith and triumph, we will sing our despair. We will be that kind of bird. There are day owls, and there are night owls, and each is beautiful and even musical while about its business." ~ Henry David Thoreau

"There’s always a hidden owl in “knowledge.” " ~ E.I. Jane