Adventure: Silent

5:58 AM, just outside Santa Fe. Officially, there is a chill. I woke at 4:30 AM and knew I would not be returning to sleep. Through the partially opened window, I could see the stars, commuter flights flashing their reds and whites, and a blizzard of satellites doing their high-altitude dirty work. The pattern of household items now requires caution as I move through the house in the dark, “new” items scattered everywhere. Not new to us, new to this house, as one door closes and another opens. I scan the area surrounding the house, then open the windows to allow the cold air in. The neighborhood bear has been doing what he/she does. Snoop, prowl, eat, looking for precious calories before the call for the big sleep comes.

Sets of ten with palms facing me to counteract the nerve damage in my left arm. Palms away comes with pain I no longer endure. Ten, twenty, thirty, as the coffee revs up. Long hangs in between until my hands burn and my upper body pops and pings. Coffee and book in hand, I walk into the dark. I stay inside the patio until my eyes adjust. There is total silence. There is no wind. There is no birdsong, yet. Only the glorious tapestry of stars hangs above. Within the first minute, I see two meteors diving toward the horizon. This is a privilege. This time of day comes with responsibility instilled in me. “Don’t take this for granted,” they would say. “No one knows how many they have left.”

Today I use the Kindle, which will both draw insects and ruin my ability to see in the dark, so I leave it closed on the table before me. I cross my legs, lean back, and watch as the universe reveals its secrets. My mind floods with “things.” Meditation, Spanish, journaling, yoga, upcoming hikes and rides, work duties, upcoming travel, photography, and long-term goals. Too much, too soon. I hit “stop” and allow my brain to downshift. Then I mentally idle. Battery power only. I feel my energy turn inward. I sit motionless. And then it happens.

To my right, a mere three feet from my head, lands a baby Western Screech-Owl. He/she comes in total silence. There is no sound, and I mean NO sound from either his/her wings or his/her landing. He/she is not there, and then there, motionless, staring down at me. I freeze. He/she turns his/her little head in one direction, then the other, and begins to clean himself/herself. He/she takes breaks to stare at me. I can see his/her eyes, and he/she can see mine. This is the end of his/her day. A return from a night of hunting. The cleaning a removel of blood and tissue of lesser creatures consumed in the night.

Then comes the long stare. An acknowledgement, a curiosity even, but with total confidence, and a cuteness unparalleled in the natural world. I watch as the owl takes off. Again, TOTAL silence. No sound of flapping wings. A precision instrument refined over ages. Perfection of engineering. The owl vanishes into the dark at the bottom of the rising blue to the east. This was a gift, yet another, as a payoff perhaps for my lack of sleep. Once the owl leaves, the birdsong begins. The stars fade, and I reach for my Kindle.