How many among us have remained unmoved upon hearing an owl at night? A disembodied hoot or screech emanating from the darkness, a hint of things unsaid and unseen.
I suspect that few people truly manage indifference when confronted with this mystery of the time when the sun goes down, piercing our psyche, individually and collectively. Doubtless these vocalizations contributed greatly to either the reverence or revilement accorded to owls throughout history.
The following poem offers an interesting insight, I believe. I hope you will enjoy it.
An Owl at Night
From time to time an owl hoots in the distance.
He hoots not for me, I know;
Yet he seems to be uttering some deep meaning, some passionate wisdom.
Was it by such-like solemn shuddering cries
That our own remote forefathers before the birth of language
Communed with one another speechlessly,
Uttering their solitary moods of grief and joy and exaltation?