It is not very often that one sees an owl. Subjectively speaking, coming into contact with an owl in the wild, as opposed to encountering one behind the barricade of a rusted chain-link at the local refuge center, is something of a rare sort of occasion. Yesterday my friend Wendi and I were fortunate enough to have received such a rare and captivating encounter. While navigating our two-wheeled contraptions through Ringwood, we veered off of a main fire road and into some singletrack climbing, a decision that disturbed the peace of an owl perched in contemplation. In one gracefully immense movement of plush gray, this enigmatic creature of aviation swung smoothly as a pendulum in front of our startled presence. The closeness and the grandeur of such an untouchable creature came quite near to stealing away what breaths we had left; and before we could realize they were being stolen, the plush gray was gone, lost in the changing canopy of Autumn. Another beautiful morning of turning some tread on the hallowed soils of Ringwood.
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