First, for speed, she launched down,
from high in an oak, to the toe of the
dam. Then with one stroke of her wings,
up and over the dam, then down again
to the water and with a strong, final
stroke of her wings and the momentum
of her launch, she dragged her talons
through the school of goldfish (aiming
to snag a golden meal), in the sunlit
water growing brighter, shimmering.
Ms. Owl missed her target. She glided
across the pond to a dead branch on the
ground near the water’s edge where she
landed, with a hopping motion turned
herself around so she could look back
along her flight path, and settled down
to watch the goldfish, shimmering.
Ms. Owl was so close Mark’s slightest
motion could have spooked her, so he sat
very, very still, not-blinking, peering
intently at her, also sitting very still. He
was blown away by the wild beauty
of the owl and—being true to his
character—had a lot of questions: What
is the story of this owl? Is she of a pair of
owls, or is she a single owl, not yet com-
mitted to a long-term relationship? Or is
her mate deceased? Having read that
owls mate for life, these questions both-
ered Mark, who dealt with the bother by
asking more questions: What does the
surviving spouse of an owl marriage do
upon the death of a mate? Waste away in
sorrow and loneliness? Look for a new
mate? Take to heavy drinking? Find a
good neighborhood singles bar to fre-
quent? Join a church?
This was an important matter to
Mark, as he was a recent widower,
wrenched, by the death of his wife of 25
years, out of a marriage which he’d
thought and had hoped would be forev-
er. Mark was not easy with the thought,
and very uneasy about the acts, of seek-
ing a new mate. He was put off by the
necessity of being “out there” again. It
made him tired and uncomfortable to
contemplate the time, energy, and sheer
luck which must go into establishing a
new life with another woman of close
affection and dedication. For instance
(he muttered to himself), just how many
modern women could he realistically
expect to meet who would go with him
to an Austin water treatment lagoon—
as he strongly enjoyed to do—to stretch
out on the ground on their backs to
count the shore-birds circling overhead?
Really.... He doubted there were many
women who could be expected to spend
much time sitting with a middle-aged
man (himself) on the dam of a small,
muddy pond, in a remote area of Central
Texas, hoping for the appearance of a
shamanistic entity while watching a
school of gold fish, shimmering. Going
out dancing was not an option: He can-
not hold a-woman-not-his-wife close
enough to dance with her. Practicing the
tango was just simply embarrassing. And
it made him feel like he was cheating on
his deceased wife.
Mark sought guidance in meeting
these challenges from all others—men,
women, even Owls—who may have
gone through this, or be in the same fix,
and who might know how to cope.
Mark took a moment to refocus his
attention. He was out in the open, there
at his Small Pond, exposed. He had no
cover, neither from a hunting blind nor
a camoflage costume. How long, he
wondered, could he sit there without
moving, before Ms. Owl noticed him?
Not so long, as it turned out. Ms. Owl
decided to take a look ‘round: swiveling
on-line at: cenizojournal.com
AYN FOUNDATION
(DAS MAXIMUM)
her head in that unique, kinda scary way
owls have of turning their heads, she
looked first to her right, then back to
center, toward the oaks, then to her left
— and Mark almost burst out in laugh-
ter as Ms. Owl did a double-take, seeing
him there, in his folding chair, looking
back at her. For at least 60 seconds,
maybe two minutes, neither of them
moved. Mark continued to not-blink.
Ms. Owl looked him over. Calmly.
He returned her gaze. Calmly. They
stared into each other’s eyes like lovers
might do. Mark detected no fear or
panic in Ms. Owl’s eyes. He saw in her
eyes intelligence, curiosity, comprehen-
sion, a strong sense of competency, and
what appeared to Mark to be a sheepish
sense of humor, perhaps a result of Ms.
Owl having not spotted him early on.
All those personality characteristics
Mark might wish to see in a soul-mate’s
eyes, he saw in Ms. Owl’s. He was not
sure what Ms. Owl saw in his eyes, but
whatever it was, she seemed not to be
comfortable with it. Or maybe, Mark
ruefully admitted, he was just boring
her, because as he finally blinked, Ms.
Owl flapped her wings, lifted her feet
from the dead branch, took purchase in
the air and glided unhurriedly back
across the pond, over the goldfish, shim-
mering. Then up and over the dam of
the Small Pond, to disappear into the
deep shade of the oak woods. Mark sat
there in his folding chair, wishing wist-
fully that he too could just fly away.
He was overwhelmed by what had
happened, of having shared a full minute
or more of intelligent communication
with a damned owl. He began to under-
stand that maybe Ms. Owl’s visit was
much like that of a visit by a shamanistic
entity to someone lost and in need of
spiritual help. Initially Mark struggled
against that analysis, but ultimately it
would prevail. The only downside to this
encounter with Ms. Owl was Mark’s
grudging, bothersome conclusion that
she may have found him to be boring.
Something told him to expect that
response in future encounters with owls
as well as with humans. Something told
him also that this particular shamanistic
entity had a sly sense of humor (for
which Mark is grateful) and might be
around in future to help out. Reflecting
on Ms. Great Horned Owl’s visit, Mark
had to admit that she was impressive. He
wished she had stayed around for a while
longer, as he was ready to welcome her to
his neighborhood with a friendly
“Hello” and a wave of his hand. He
might even have given to Ms. Owl—had
she stayed around a few more minutes—
his contact information, business card,
and email address. “We could have
scheduled,” he thought aloud, “a lunch
date for later in the week, perhaps back
here at the Small Pond. We’ve most like-
ly had interesting experiences and
knowledge we could have shared. But,”
he continued, “even though Ms. Owl is
gone, I do not feel rejected.” Mark stared
off into the middle distance over the
pond, thinking of Ms. Great Horned
Owl, hoping she had someone to hoot at
in the coming night, and contemplating
the paucity of telephone numbers in the
small black book he had taken to carry-
ing. The school of goldfish in the water,
shimmering, seemed satisfied that Ms.
Owl was gone.
D AVIS M OUNTAINS
N UT C OMPANY
Roasted and Dipped Pecans
You can taste the difference care makes!
ANDY WARHOL MARIA ZERRES
“The Last Supper” “September Eleven”
Brite Building 107-109 N Highland, Marfa
Open weekends noon to 5 pm
For hours, please call: 432.729.3315
or visit www.aynfoundation.com
Please stop in for FREE SAMPLES
Hwy 17 in Fort Davis • Open: Mon. - Sat. 9 to 5
Great handmade gourmet gifts!
We ship anywhere year-round
Visit us on the web: www.allpecans.com
800-895-2101 • 432-426-2101
dmnc@allpecans.com
Cenizo
First Quarter 2019
13