1:30 a.m., clear skies, 32 degrees
The waning gibbous Moon is calling to me right now, and I am tempted to break one of the sacrosanct agreements that hold the Cottage steady: Never wake a sleeping puppy. The sound of the front door opening would provoke either a gentle investigative patrol or a call to arms. Both of those would wake the other South Side human, so I let Love elder Ego and chose to stay inside.
However, that doesn't mean I cannot have some of what I want, and some of what
I want is to listen for the calls of my newest neighbors, a pair of Great
Horned Owls. I make a cup of tea for the pleasure of a warm drink, move the chair
in my room for a comfy listening station, open the window that looks over the south
yard, and settle in for a visit with the night.
I heard the Owls at 10:00 p.m. when I went outside to
tend the cat trap. Hoo-h’hoo-hoo-hoo. Hoo-h’hoo-hoo-hoo. The female’s higher
pitch call was answered by the deeper voice of the male. Their call and
response could mean they are marking their territory against an intruder, or they
could just be staying in contact while they hunt. I was tonight years old when
I learned that although female GHOs are about 1/3 again larger than males, the
males have a larger voice box, and that is why their voice is deeper.
Here I am, listening. The laptop is actually on my
lap. I am making use of easy access to information to look up the answers to my
questions about owls, and suddenly find myself inhabiting a memory room from my
childhood. There was a bookcase against the wall in the space where living and
dining room joined, and another in the playroom. The first held a complete set
of Encyclopedia Brittanica, a dictionary, and some other heavy reference books.
The other had a set of junior encyclopedias, books about birds, trees, and
wildlife that had belonged to my Grampa Barker, a set of books about the states
(with hideous blue covers), and many other books on miscellaneous reference or educational
topics.
If I wanted to know something, all I had to do was find the right book to give
me the answer. My mother never said, “Don’t touch those,” or “That book is too
big for you.” The only rule about books was that if you took a book out, you
had to put it back where it belonged when you were done with it. From the time
I was four years old and able to read on my own, I had a world of knowledge available
to me. All I had to do was reach for it.
What is this witch rambling on about in the middle of
this cold night, with her window open as she’s hoping to hear the owls and listening
to all the other night sounds? This: for the past couple of years I have been following
a New Year’s practice that I learned from Irene Glasse of Glasse Witch Cottage.
It is simply this: “Many years ago, I was introduced to the idea of selecting a
single word for each calendar year to act as an intention, touchstone, and
big-picture goal. The beauty of a single word intention is that the simplicity
means multiple ways of connecting are possible.” ~ Irene Glasse
Ever since my autumn pilgrimage to the north, I have been gently reviewing the
way I live my life. Some days, I run it through my mother’s flour sifter; some
days, I put it in a simmer pot on the stove. Some days I toss it into flowing
water to see what floats away, what swirls in the eddies, what settles on a
rock to stay. The pull of the Turning Wheel and even the common calendar year have
taken me to the time and place where the results of that review have been settling
comfortably into my being. Into my bones, maybe even rewriting something in my DNA.
In the past two weeks, I have been thinking into the coming year. 2024.
Goodness. I’m sure it was just yesterday that I was playing four square and hopscotch
on the Walnut Street sidewalk.
There is so much happening in this world, in the local community, among my
friends, with my family, inside of me. These are uncertain times, and it seems
to me that it is best to meet that uncertainty with a combination of the
certainty of knowledge (both knowing and knowing what you don't know) compassion, and love.
I’m not making resolutions. I did, over time, create a small list of things I
would like to try. Why a list? Because my brain needs the memory assist, and I
do not want to wake up in the middle of a next autumn night and say, “oh
noooooooo! I meant to try candle making this year.”
With love from Bear Path Cottage.
Sheri
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