Of Blood Moons and Great Horned Owls

Well, the supermoon lunar eclipse/"Blood Moon" was a magnificent sight for those who were actually able to see it, as you may be able to gather from the time lapse video above. At my house, it was a total bust. We had had light rain throughout the day and the cloud cover was just too dense to be able to view the eclipse.

But as the eclipse unfolded unseen above our heads, we did have a bit of excitement in our backyard. Some seldom-seen or heard visitors came calling.

Great Horned Owls! There were two of the birds, one in the old magnolia tree and another in a crape myrtle. They carried on a lengthy conversation with each other before my presence on the patio startled them, I think, and they flew over to the large pine trees in our neighbor's yard and continued hooting there.

For some reason, it always surprises me that we are host to Great Horned Owls. I expect Barred Owls, the quintessential owl of southern swamps because the habitat here seems very friendly to them, but, actually, I more often hear the Great Horned Owls at night so perhaps I need to modify my expectations.

When I say that I more often hear them at night, I don't mean to imply that they are frequently heard. In fact, it has been several months since I last heard them, but, obviously, they must be around all the time.

Great Horned Owls are probably the most ubiquitous of North American owls. They live in nearly all habitats of the continent except for the very far north around the Arctic Circle. They are large, aggressive, powerful owls that have earned their nickname of "tiger owl." Their favorite prey is mammals such as rabbits, opossums, rats, mice, squirrels, and skunks. They are even known to take on porcupines, sometimes with fatal consequences for both predator and prey. They also take some snakes, frogs, and birds, including other predators like hawks and owls.

They hunt mostly at night, sometimes at dusk. They watch from a high perch somewhere until they are able to identify prey and then swoop down on silent wings to capture it.

These big birds are generally permanent residents where they live, although some of them may wander long distances in fall and winter, often in a more southerly direction, looking for prey. It's likely that the two I heard last night are local birds and perhaps I will hear them again sometime soon. Or many months from now. Most likely I will hear them many times before the next Blood Moon comes around in 2033.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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