Five years ago, a couple found a baby owl, near-death, on their lawn. They consulted with me because of my experience with owls and hawks. Eventually my wife and I undertook the task of treating the owl, Alfie, waiting out a developmental delay (most of her flight feathers came especially late that first summer) , and then we taught her to fly and hunt. Alfie disappeared for a week. Then she chose to return, centering her territory (地盘) on our backyard. I put a nest box on my writing studio.
Alfie's first free-living year— mating, raising her first baby— coincided with the COVID-19 that limited us to our yard. Friends said the birds were singing aloud and happily. From Alfie's performance, I saw humans' unrest and worry when facing the unexpected virus. When Alfie and her mate, Plus-One, played in the shade, the daily rhythms and quietness of the owls' world contrasted with our life.
Many cultures view owls as messengers of God. However, Alfie is flesh and feathers: her heart pumps blood red as ours. She has her comforts and fears. She is a very real little being overall. Yet, throughout the isolation to prevent the spread of disease, Alfie loosed herself, living comfortably with her mate in the yard, which certainly inspired me and my family with hope. She is, in reality, a messenger, one conveying the real meaning of life.
To be fully present in life and love, so natural for Alfie, remains a work in progress for me. Alfie is the perfect little philosophical master. She enjoys a freedom unpolluted by criticism or doubt, and a liberty as the air flows beneath her wings. Resisting nothing, she is pure presence, here now. Perhaps I'd long labored toward the place where Alfie was effortlessly taking me, a sense of openness, showing what's possible when we mess up our accustomed boundaries.
Alfie remains our magical light of the nighttime backyard. By day she usually stays in a couple of favorite shaded spots. The choice is always hers. Free within limits; that's the universe for her. It can inspire a life's work.
