At the Vestal Place, eggs have
already hatched. Great horned owls are some of the earliest nesters. Two
fledglings fluffed in down perched on a log beam in the two story barn. They
sat as still as the bronze owl andirons that belonged to my stepmother’s
parents. But as we circumnavigated the barn, trying to see but not disturb the
birds, their heads pivoted with agility as they followed our movement. Each new
view found them staring at us with rich yellow eyes. They seemed entirely
unconcerned by our presence though their parents had abandoned them at first
sight of us.
