“A wise old owl sat on a pine; The more he saw the less he spoke; The less he spoke the more he heard; Why aren't we like that wise old bird?” unknown
Twilight settles onto the sandstone ridge blanketed with desert snow.
Owl calls. Another replies.
The nightly vocals bounce off the rock echoing back, spinning a twilight symphony.
Rarely seen, hidden raptors on night patrol hunt with silent speed while humans slumber.
The finale begins as the break of day arrives, and the sun slaps the ridge with light.
Owls beckon sleeping life - wake-up.
High above, out of sight, the wise sentinel sits where unsuspecting neighbors live.
