Where are the owls that sing through the night until dawn? Their Silence is deafening. When I walk to the river I feel absence keenly, a precursor to the anguish that will pour through each vein and artery of this aching body when I read the words: “Kavanaugh Confirmed.”
Rape wills on.
The Owls have gone into hiding, sequestered in the gracious arms of the Matriarchs of the Bosque, the Cottonwoods, whose butterfly canopy still protects them from unseeing eyes.
But the leaves are falling in drifts, scattering delicately scalloped hearts over desert ground. From lemon to bronze. Hearts that are broken fall to earth like the leaves do, I think, after witnessing the fall.
I thought I saw a luminous glow reflected on shining leaves just after dawn when the clouds parted for a rising sun, but now I see the trees were the Source of that Light, not its reflection. Like the owls whose dark eyes penetrate the night.
The absence of the owls today is no coincidence for they are in mourning for the women who love them.
The wind blows open my door as I write these words.
Nature’s response to sorrow is to open the door.
I remind myself that soon the trees will be bare and the owls will seek protection from caves carved into sandstone cliffs.
I want to follow these birds into the coming night, take comfort from “the dark ways of knowing” to find peace in this Earth Woman Shattering.
Allow a river of grief to flow unimpeded…
If only I could.