I awoke very early this morning, from a combination of aches, pains, and troubled dreams. Wandering through my house, I could hear very faintly the call of an owl , and despite the cold and the fact that I was wearing only pajamas, I wandered out onto the back stoop to listen for them. It was 4:30 A.M. The stars were bright overhead, wearing their winter constellations, with Orion high to the south. A quarter moon burned to the east, like fire and ice all at once. My feet were wet with dew, and the hard, roughcast concrete chilled me where I sat, gazing up at the sky. For a few minutes, the last of the autumn crickets were all I could hear: no cars, no wind, no human noises at all. Then, off in the blackened woods to my north and east came the territorial call of a Barred Owl, far clearer and louder than it had been indoors. Silence. More silence, and then the call again. Barred Owl, Wing-Chi Poon And after another few moments, the call came once more... and was answe
Welcome to the online journal of a pair of Quaker Pagans.