"you've been paid a visit by the night owls...

yes, the night owls. they swooped into your closet and stole every last pair of underwear, and one out of each pair of socks". Or something like that. (Sorry about that tangent.)

Ever since i finished my job working at o' dark-early and subsequently biking around in the early mornings or sleeping on a cushioned doctor's bench/massage chair while my boss exercised, i've reverted back to my good ol' normal self, namely, bein' a night owl. Observe:
Which brings me to a story i'd like to relate...

It was a dark, stormy night (ok, so it wasn't stormy) as i drove back from south OC to my abode in Orange by way of Trabuco Canyon. Not far from the light pollution which ramps off the east hills into the whitewashed, star-masked night sky exists "a whole new world" unknown to many Orange Countians, at least of this generation. There was a time in years gone by when this sort of thing would have been completely normal, and photographs and wobblies testify to that. Oak trees sprawled across rolling hills and valleys, a stream bubbling and weaving over river rocks and lush green water plants, the smell of dust and earth, not to mention hay and horses. Country.

"Are you ready for the country? Because it's time to go!"

Some nights its so dark you can't see a thing, but most nights the moon lights everything up so well that one scarce needs a streetlamp for anything, save for driving an automobile, or breaking up conversations in parked cars (if you are a cop or a bro), or any other of a myraid of other nefarious and unnatural nighttime activities which require more light than that naturally reflected off the moon from the sun 'round the other side of the planet. *whew*

It's nights like these when you remember that the earth still turns. This soft kiss of moonlight is what would later prompt me to shut off my headlamps as i whizzed along Santiago Canyon Road before it turns into Chapman Avenue on the road home (at least for now). Praying or hoping that there were no cops on the road to pull me over for driving without headlamps added to the adrenaline. Even at 55 mph and no headlights on except the running lights (i wanted to salvage at least a little bit of safety after all), i could feel every turn in the road as my car silently floated past scene upon scene of Californian Paradise. Along the ridge of the hills to my left i could see the outline of more oaks and probably a few sycamores and pines against the deep night sky. To my left i knew there were quiet, wealthy homes full of sleeping families, lined with quiet stables and peaceful, beautifully landscaped grounds. i wanted each stretch to last forever and i hoped that each subsequent turn would yield no additional cars on the road, blinding me with their bright lights and their mere presence, forcing me to turn mine back on. But this isn't even the main reason i'm telling this story, though it was certainly glorious and intimate to be sure.

Before i even reached Santiago Canyon Road after rounding Cook's Corner, i cruised slowly, quietly through Trabuco Canyon, past O'Neill Regional Park and Kirsten's dentist's office. At this time, as later also, i hoped that no cars would approach, neither from behind nor before, so i might enjoy my journey home in peace.

Since the road here is windy and darker at night than other stretches of the road due to the scraggly, ancient oaks reaching across from either side, The Law found it appropriate to post the speed limit at 35 mph. Occasionally i go that fast, but if no one is around, and especially if it is late, i prefer to go about 20 or so, depending a little on whether i'm climbing a small hill or descending one, and letting the accelerator have a break from all the abuse i give it when i'm in a hurry during the daytime hours. At this rate i can barely hear my car slice through the night air and can even regain much of the electricity used for accelerating on each downhill slope. With the windows open for the breeze and the smell of earth and peace, i can also hear crickets, other nighttime insects, and probably a few frogs. Looking around as much as is safe, i catch small microcosms of awesome which inspire me, surprise me, recall scenes seen in a past life, and call me to come and live, forge hearth and home, foster growth and children and enjoy long hours of passion with my wife. I think to myself, "Someplace like here is where i would love to grow old with you."

It is in this moment with all of these thoughts colliding and my soul reeling, surrounded by feelings, emotions, and whisperings that would not even become fully clear until later when they poured out my fingers, i noticed something swoop down from the trees above. The wings were white and the wingspan was great and i knew instantly, instinctively that this must be a marvelous bird. This photograph isn't the exact one i saw, of course, but it comes close in many ways:
Excited and full of wonder, i braked quickly and pulled into a turnout about thirty yards ahead of me. Fortunately my car engine was already off because i had been driving slowly enough to be running all electric. That's probably why it took the owl so long to start off in the first place since it only heard my approach due to the wind rushing past this sleek, white, strong car. It was now perched in a tree only about 40 feet away and looking right at me. Putting the car in park and shutting my headlights off, i sat there leaning across the passenger seat to get a good look at it. It was beautiful! White, round-eyed, curious, and still, yet slightly squirmy, we both waited for the other to make a move. The night air was refreshing to breathe and the light-buzz-quiet of the forest was pleasant. After a while--which could easily have been a half hour but was probably more like three minutes--the owl again took off, spreading its magnificent wings and sailing off into the night in search of snakes or mice or other small rodents as prey (yes, sadly, probably even bunny rabbits, of which there are many out that way).

"O, what a night!"