Crepuscular Sightings

I was taking the dog out. It was the precise tipping point of dusk, when the world goes from afternoon to evening. The sky, which minutes ago had been a bright glowing dome of fading blue tinged with orange, had turned off its light like a lid closing, a match snuffed out. Now the streetlamps, which had been anemic bulbs pale as pearls, became blazing yellow beacons whose beams shot through the darkness.

As we crossed the street I saw a flying shape dart into a tree. I noticed it because it was bigger than most of the common birds I see, and out after dark, and perfectly silent.

I looked up, and hunched on the naked branch of a locust tree was an owl, turning its head left and right and around. It was small for an owl, compact, with just a hint of ears tufting up from its rounded head.

It was silent and streaked with brown and so entirely unexpected that I was almost convinced it was a tree branch come to life and inspecting the world with eyes of yellow amber.

It stayed in the tree during our walk up and down the block, but when we rushed back outside with a camera (the dog puzzled but obliging), the branch was empty.

{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}