Monday, February 1, 2010
The moon was scheduled to be at its brightest moment of the year this past Friday evening and it did not disappoint. I arrived home just as the sun was setting over the snow covered prairie and quickly donned gloves and a coat for some photographic opportunities of said lunar object. Rather than starting with the northeast sky where the moon was rising, I was drawn to the sun setting quickly on the western horizon and the haunting call of my resident great horned owls. Yes, they are mine. No, nobody else around here appreciates them.
"They eat my pheasants," Danish Cowboy whines.
Pheasants are dumb. Pretty, but dumb. Even if an owl could eat a pheasant, the owl would still be my favorite.
Owls are awesome. They are a little spooky. When you approach, they tend to not fly away, but rather watch you like a hawk. They fly from fence post to fence post on late evening jogs, accompanying you on your journey in an eerie sort of way. They sit on my deck late at night and hoot at Danish Cowboy and I as we watch television. In fact, I think they are so smart that actually are watching television.
My last pair of great horned owls died an unfortunate death when they flew into a major power line west of the house several years ago. Actually, this was two separate events. One flew into the line and caused the well to shut down and left us without water. We fixed it and a few days later, perhaps in a fine show of solidarity, the other owl did the same exact thing. When Danish Cowboy reported these events to me, I was so sorrowful that he didn't even make any snide remarks about these creatures that allegedly eat his pheasants. So given this history, I'm glad that a new pair has taken up residence with us.
Anyhow, where was I? Oh, the moon. It was way too cold to stand outside and take pictures. Suffice it to say that it was bright. It lit up the prairie as though it were 2:00 in the afternoon. Moonlight on a snowcovered prairie has a glow that you just can't know until you've seen it.