The wise old owl

E

dward Richards wrote, “A wise old owl sat on an oak; the more he saw the less he spoke; the less he spoke the more he heard; why aren’t we like that wise old bird?”—I sometimes ask myself this question, too. I sometimes think that I underestimate my five senses, that by talking or shouting I will connect better with the surroundings. But that is simply not true.

During the day, the performance of my senses is not too high: avoid falling down the stairs or crashing with a car, enabling me to assimilate all the knowledge that is being taught in class and savoring all the foods I put in my mouth, are the most basic jobs they have among others. During the night, it is a completely different thing. During the night each one of them increases its performance. Each one of them are enhanced and that allows me to appreciate the night. The pupils increase in size, in order to let more light in, so that I can differentiate figures and shades, such as Douglas-fir and ponderosa pine figures. Hearing gains accuracy so low-frequency sounds can be heard clearly. The skin becomes more fragile, so any little touch of an unknown object puts me on alert, and the same happens with smell and taste. These adaptations to darkness are accompanied with the release of adrenaline to the bloodstream which results in euphoria and excitement—and, I would like to think that that is why owls become alive at night, because the enhancement of their senses brings them to a state of euphoria and excitement that cannot be achieved when the sun is up.

That night, in the cold dark Kamloops, I felt like I was a wise old owl. We started our night walk from Lac Le Jeune road and diverted into the forest. I was the last ant in the line as we were climbing up the hill in between of Douglas-fir and ponderosa pine shades, maybe because I was stopping every five steps to observe my surroundings or maybe because I was so amazed by nature in the dark that I couldn’t walk faster. The light, emitted by the headlights, diminishing and the distant chatter warned me that I was getting too far from the group.

After eleven loops I was already on the top of the hill looking towards the city and all its artificial light. The cold had been increasing its toughness as we were getting higher and higher, but now it was at its maximum, or was it?... I wasn’t sure if it had gotten colder or it was my sense of touch that had increased its sensitivity. But either way, I liked it because I felt connected with the nature somehow, like I belonged there.

Sitting down in a rock, once again, I drew what my brain was able to capture of that dark but beautiful image; and as I did, I couldn’t help wonder why humans normally relate dark with bad things, with ugliness. I guess it’s because at night time we become vulnerable and powerless, and I know how bad we want to be the one with the power and control. Nonetheless, I have always enjoyed the night, I have always enjoyed the connection between me, my senses and the surroundings, and last but not least I have always enjoyed its beauty. Its inexplicable beauty. That you don’t see doesn’t mean that you cannot look…

And for that, I admire and aspire to be like that wise old bird Edward Richards once described.