On the way down, we get a special treat. Deep in the tall, shadowy eucalyptus, the owls are hooting. As their calls echo through the thickening gloom, I study the upper branches of the towering trees but see nothing. All winter, when I hike late in the day, I hear owls in this grove talking to each other. I always stop but almost never spot one.
Owls know when and where to show themselves.
With the rearview mirror, I look to see if Lark shares any of my fascination for these mysterious sentinels of the night. Not right now. She's still snoozing. There are many days coming when Lark and I can walk this trail and hear the owls.