Eye to Eye

(Great Horned Owl)

When I look into his eyes
I see a glint,
a spark of knowing.
Is it judgement I see,
or a reflection of whom I might one day be?

“I see you,” he seems to say
in silent cognizance,
“past your features, dress, and manner.”

And I wonder
who truly sees whom.

I have an obsession with owls, a fantastical notion of a special connection to them. When lucky enough to spy one and have precious moments to study their feathered, inscrutable faces, without fail they are already peering piercingly back. 

If I followed the American Indian tradition of declaring totems, mine would probably be the Great Horned Owl. I’ve been lucky to see many and my very first effort at illustration was a Great Horned Owl that I chalked years ago at college.

The mythology of many cultures is replete with owls. Sometimes they are revered for their wisdom. More often they are feared as harbingers of foul play or death. My totem would be friendlier, like the messenger owls in Harry Potter. I imagine a more peaceful sleep with my owl watching silently or giving the occasional all’s-well hoot or sharp, warning bark.

Everything about them is about the night: their piercing eyes; their flattened faces that gather the slightest of sounds; their feathers, edged in fringe and covered with velvety fluff that carry them silently through the darkness. Evolution really did its thing for owls.