The sounds of the night

Owls have been on my mind recently and last night an owl was practically perched on my nose. At least, it sounded like it. Lights off at about 11.30, the hooting through the bedroom window was loud and clear. It drowned out the hum of mosquitoes most effectively. The Tawny owl must have been lonely. It called, every few seconds, and there was no reply. So it kept on, hopeful that a kindred spirit would lift its feathered ears and join it for a night's hunting or other pleasures. At 3am it was still going strong, its eagerness for company neither impaired nor dashed. At 5.30 it finally stopped when the cockerels took over.
But a hooting owl is somehow not an irritation. Their extraordinary beauty means that instead of twitching the duvet about in restlessness, I lay in bed and grinned to think that there was an owl so close. And they do get close. Two weeks ago picking blackberries with a friend, reaching into a deep hedge to collect the juiciest samples, a Barn Owl flew out between our heads and off along the hedge line to find somewhere more private for its lurkings. We had been nose to beak, yet hadn't seen this large white and gold owl until it launched itself. Its feathers were scrupulously groomed; as it flew away you could see the perfection of its plumage, the attention to cleanliness and order ensuring a silent flight and good hunting. Later that evening it was seen again travelling up and down the lines of rowed up hay in search of displaced rodents.
Boxes for Tawny Owls and Little Owls have been built and put along the woodland edges on the farm; I haven't yet seen anything enter or leave the boxes, but then I walk during the day and these are nocturnal creatures. Barn Owl boxes will be made and placed in the roofspace of the barns, once there are roofs and rafters to protect and sit them on. It is on the to do list.