perpetual motion

the strigidaen cosmos aligned last night.  crazy.  overwhelming.  a frenzied lather of feathery, footy little owls. 

second year, male boreal owl

i knew right away, shortly after unfolding my nets, that non-chalance had been thrown out out the louvered window.  there was no time for contemplation, no time to solve the world’s problems and bemoan the lack of enlightenment for every one who doesn’t think like me. 

there was only time for reaction. 

i told you it was coming and i told you it would be big.    

big big.  like the world in a kid’s eyes. 

but then, after all the commotion and incredulity and owler’s blood, it stopped on a dime.  right at midnight.  right after the tawdry moonlight cast emaciated shadows across the landscape.  

it was perfect timing. i was spent and frazzled, yet satisfied that of the 85 owls extracted and handled and measured and released, there were no owls that were not handled and released with care and attention. it’s an owler’s creed to place the owl above the needs and daliances of the owler. 

we ain’t shit.