Pre-dawn.

Yesterday, I took a mini-hike with my dog, Floyd. I headed out long before sunrise. (This is one of the things I love about night crew, my sleep schedule makes pre-dawn trips easy). On the drive, a large owl flew low over my car. I couldn't tell if it was a barred owl or great horn owl, but I believe it had something in it's talons.

If you've never been out at pre-dawn, there's something magical about it. The world is quiet. There's no true daylight but there's a slowly brightening glimmer. The transition from quiet to song is so gradual you can miss it. Robins sing first and then come the thrushes and soon the woods are in full symphony of song.

I was out of cell phone range and no humans were around. I had Floyd with me, but there's still something about that sense of aloneness that reminds you that you are a small thread in the grand fabric of life. Floyd felt it too, his bright echoed the wild spirit all around.

Sunrise arrived as I was getting back near my car. I had wanted to go further, but my knee (and the cold I have) had forced me to turn back. That was ok, because I found a side trail and sat and watched the sky change.

As well as the owl, and the usual assortment of birds, I saw a pair of dippers and a ruffed grouse. Resting by the river was peaceful until Floyd began to whine and guard my back. I saw nothing in the moss covered trees behind me, but Floyd would not settle so we headed to the car. Along the same trail we had just followed, Floyd found a fresh scent track, which left him excited and worried and reminding me that I am just a visitor in this space.