Barn owls are one of my favorite subjects. Their unusual, heart-shaped faces, long, lanky legs, and habit of nesting almost exclusively in man-made structures make them unique among owls. When in the presence of one of these majestic birds, it’s not hard to imagine why owls have such a rich history of symbolic import. Traditionally a symbol of wisdom, enlightenment, death, and transition, the owl was also the familiar of the Greek/Roman Goddess Athena/Minerva. Though fierce in battle, Minerva was also known for her wisdom and restraint. She played an important role in handcraft, agriculture, and is credited with a score of inventions. She also has the distinction of being born parthenogenically –without a mother- through Zeus’s forehead. The barn owl, with its alien face and unearthly beauty, seems too like it simply sprang into being, the lone and elegant brain-child of a midnight god.

I am fortunate to live in an area with a large population of these wonderful owls. In fact, with the coming of summer, I hear them nearly every night, chattering rhythmically to each other as they fly overhead or calling from lofty perches with their distinctively raspy, metallic shrieks. Last year, a pair nested in the shaggy trunk of a nearby palm tree, and one night I was fortunate enough to see the two adults and three branchers all perched in the same tree, a gathering of ghostly white apparitions in the glow of a round and fecund moon. The last few weeks, I’ve noticed the base of this same palm littered with owl pellets, gopher parts, and the white splash of bird droppings, and I wait with baited breath for Minerva to make her appearance.