In the deep night before dawn I listened to the wind pulling at the bedroom door. I was lying comfortably in bed enjoying the sound of the air circulating through the apartment when I heard the owl. It has been a while since I was last aware of an owl here. Was it carried back to town on the shifting winds, or were the winds its bow wave?
This evening I was slow to sit down and relax after an intense afternoon. The curtains began to dance on the south-westerly. A car revved past, evoking the sound of a hot summer evening. As the reverberations settled I heard the unmistakeable shriek of a barn owl. Had it come over the railway from Whitlingham Broad? The call echoed through the space between the apartment block and the leafless hillside before evaporating on the breeze. Once the shriek had faded the curtains were left to dance alone and all I could hear was fallen leaves swirling in the street below.
Now, as I write I hear the shrieks again and a tawny owl hooting a riposte. Winter knocks at the window. The Solstice is two days hence.