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Mostly, things reminding you of other things makes the world more interesting. It is one of the good things about getting older. But I can't really listen to Andrew Bird's new single, I Want to See Pulaski at Night, because the name overwhelms me with the need to listen to this again instead. Richard and Linda Thompson, so good.
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Today I got to release a barn owl. Well, okay, I got to hold the box.

The staff at the Raptor Center gave it a final physical exam, banded it, and put it in a cardboard box, the kind that's made to be a temporary cat carrier. Then Nixie, Neal, and I drove it down to Windsor, to the Poudre trailhead near the Kodak plant. I didn't see why we shouldn't release it in Neal's barn, which has a shortage of barn owls, but no, you're supposed to put them back where you found them.

We walked toward the trees. I held the box facing away from me and pulled it open, and waited for the owl to fly out. And waited. Nixie gestured for me to shake the box, but I could just see myself re-injuring it. I tilted the box a little further and waited.

The owl flew out. It landed in the weeds and sat there for a while. Then it flew into a chain-link fence and hung there for a while. Then it flew toward the trees.

They look a lot bigger, flying out of your hands, than they did back at the Raptor Center, wrapped in a pillowcase.


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