Driving home form yoga class, taking the narrow steep road the goes over the hill instead of the longer one that goes around it. Dark overcast night, cold and breezy, I am climbing up the hill, headlights illuminating the trees above me on the incline. I notice something large on a limb just inside the circle of light. I slow down as I get closer and the grey lump morphs into a barred owl. I come to a complete stop and turn off the headlights, leaving the yellow running lights on. I open the windows and turn off the radio. The owl silently watches my car. I am sure the headlights have temporarily blinded it. It sits on the limb contemplating this annoying human who has disturbed it nocturnal hunting. In the dark the world is all shades of black and dark grey. The owl is fluffed up against the chill and its white and dark striped feathers almost glow in the darkness. I am in awe of its majesty, its beauty, wildness, and mastery of the night. I want it to call out but all it does is sit, still and silent. After a few minutes, or seconds, (its hard to tell how much time passes when time stands still), it takes flight. Just a flick of motion, wings open wide, fluffy legs askew, swoop, swerve, and gone into the shadows of the forest, all in absolute silence. As I turn my headlights back on and continue up the hill I think about owls calling in the night.