Owls that whistle and owls that sing. Owls that glide on silent wings. And whether they are singing or silent, they beckon me to follow them into the darkest reaches of the boreal forest. That I should spend the last dozen winters of my life chasing owls defies logic. Before I began, I festered with the pervasive apathy of modern civilization.
Humans pillage the environment and homogenize the forests.
We drive Sport Utility Vehicles the size of a house and hunt for pleasure. And when the hunting turns sour, we shoot road signs. Owls adapt, they have no other choice. They hunt to survive. There are no pleasurable diversions.