"Honey, come quick!’
I drop my armful of dirty laundry and head out the door to find John looking South and listening.
I join him on the back patio, bare feet chilly in the frosty air.
The full moon gives everything a blueish tinge and even the shaggy dog is quiet except for the click of her toenails on the concrete as she stand by us and we listen.
The road is blissfully silent and all the night seems to hold are the quiet noises of the cows in the pasture near our house.
Then the great horned owl calls again… and again… and again.
We grin and whisper and listen until John attempts to call back and the owl stops.
Our silence collapses into giggles and silly dancing and we head back to our respective Sunday night chores.
It is not until later while settling a fussy child that I hear the owl again.
The sound drifts though a crack in the window that I couldn’t bear to shut entirely on such a beautiful night and as I rock my baby I have a chance to reflect on the day.
And I am thankful.