I meditated on divine love, and God sent me baby screech owls.
Memorial Day, meditating at lunchtime, I focused my attention on divine love. At twilight, I sat on the porch, silently applauding the tree frogs, an arboreal orchestra without a conductor, singing in tune but out of time.
And then something I’ve never witnessed before: A family of screech owls flitted into the cedar elm before me. Two adults, two fledglings. The babies were practicing flying. Practicing crying, too. A screech owl’s cry is one of the most mournful sounds on earth, a sad, descending whinny, a soul expiring. These youngsters didn’t quite have it yet; their cries were more of a whimper.
One of the babies turned its head in my direction. It was too dark to tell, but I know that little owl was looking straight at me.
All this lasted maybe 30 seconds, with the tree frogs chorusing in the background, until the screech-owl family flew away.
I could only sit in awe and shiver. Every time I encounter nature, I consider it a privilege, a gift, a direct connection with the divine.
An act of divine love.