Every evening, a Bobook owl calls from a river red gum growing alongside the Maranoa River -- over the road from our home. I love its distinct 'mo-poke' call and believe that the sound carries for several kilometres. It is a strange mixture of soft sound and loud.
One of our friends painted a beautiful watercolour of a bobook owl which we bought recently at a local charity art auction. Elizabeth Gearey's painting (as shown in the photographs) show the large golden-yellow eyes of the owl, and from its position in our kitchen, I often feel it watching over me.
I'm glad I'm not a mouse, sparrow, moth or beetle!
In the velvety hush of the evening, beneath a vast star-studded sky, the mournful hoot of the owl reminds me of the good and the bad. Every day I'm feeling a little better; however, my feelings of frustration at not been able to do much (because of almost constant nausea) threaten to overwhelm me at times.
This the owl knows. He tells me to be patient and rest in the stillness and calm of the outback. I will try.
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