Rushing toward the basement to watch a movie while doing work on my computer and eating an apple, an amazement broke my multi-taking away from me. “Look out the window, quick!” Ken said, and there she was, on the ledge of the swingset: a great horned owl.
I got close to the window, aiming the camera. She wheeled her head around, but judging by her size and mine, it was clear I wasn’t much of a threat. So she watched me. I watched her. I snapped the shuttle repeatedly as she wheeled her head back and forth, opened her great brown eyes, and although she wasn’t signaling, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeVille,” she didn’t flinch.
Some crows dive-bombed her, but she just ducked and held steady. “Why are they attacking her?” I asked Ken. “Probably because she eats their babies.” Then I remembered that today, as I got out of the car, there was a crow close on the deck ledge, who again, didn’t fly away or flinch as I got close, passing the crow on my way in. I was happy to see the crow that close.
Now the owl, on the ancient swingset from Ken’s childhood that we dragged over to this house over 15 years ago and now use as part of our vegetable garden (climbing beans up the poles). This owl looking at me looking at her until the crows ganged up on her some more, and she flew into the woods.