An Owl in the Modern World
Occasionally at night I do hear one - a tawny owl or a little owl. Sometimes on my daily walk I go down the country lane near our house. From where you leave the main road, you can see the blue bay in the distance, backed by the distant indigo of Snowdonia's mountains. As you walk down the lane, it slowly dips, the horizon disappears from view, and you pass by a very old Welsh stone barn before the lane goes through a wood. All around are wild fields and meadows, full of long grass, surrounded by messy trees and lined with prickly, brambly hedgerows. It's the realm of all kinds of insects, birds and other small creatures. For this reason, I always thought this would be an ideal place for an owl, and with the disused barn, a barn owl.
In some cultures, people believe owls to be bad luck. Not me. If I hear or see an owl, I consider myself very lucky and feel happy. If an owl has chosen to be there, maybe it's a sign of a healthy landscape. These wild birds seem mysterious, almost like mythical animals. I always hoped an owl would find this barn. I'd walk through and think, please, please come and live here.
One day towards the end of August I decided to peek into the old barn. It has some missing tiles and holes which could be windows, partially boarded up and overgrown with foliage. I climbed onto the large stone under the window, craned my neck and looked up through the gap to the rafters above. Resting high up on a wooden beam was a barn owl, calmly looking down at me with its white heart-shaped face and onyx-black eyes. The sight of the owl took my breath away. It already knew I was there. It wasn't worried. For a few seconds, our two worlds overlapped. I could have watched it for ages, but I knew I couldn't stay, and I knew I mustn't look through its window again. It needs to feel safe there. Maybe I will catch sight of it on my walk one evening.
It takes so much for a barn owl to survive. It is vulnerable to the many dangers humanity has created, as well as starvation. A barn owl is a testimony to endurance and survival against the odds. Extremely soft feathers allow it to fly silently, unheard by their prey. I know about this incredible softness. Once, as a teenager, I was walking down my local high street with a friend and we stopped to watch someone trying to raise funds for owls. In his hand he held a fluffy young barn owlet, six or seven inches tall, right there in the middle of the hustle and bustle. I stroked its downy chest and I will never forget, it was the absolute softest thing I ever touched!
Now if it rains I think of the barn owl and hope it doesn't rain too much so that it can find food. It means a lot to me that the owl reckoned these fields were a good enough place to be. It's an integral part of my world or "ayni" as the Aymara and Quechua people of South America say. Please, please fate, let it thrive. As I go to sleep, if I'm worried about something, I think of the owl, living nearby.
