One night not too long ago as I lay in bed, I was listening to the nightsounds outside our bedroom window. As I’ve mentioned recently, I have learned that certain songbirds, like mockingbirds and cardinals, add their songs to the evening repertoire of nature’s summer serenades. Unlike their counterparts, like, say, the cicadas, the songbirds are slightly more intermittent with their singing, and, on this particular night, in the absence of the mockingbird’s intricate song styling, the cicada chorus was loud and constant. And, yet, underlying that more obvious and even obtrusive sound, I distinctly heard the rhythmic stuttering hoo-h’HOO-hoo-hoo of a Great Horned Owl. I loved the idea that despite the overwhelming cacophony of the cicadas, the soft hoot of the Great Horned Owl was equally obvious to my ears.
Over several days now, my mind has harkened back to that moment, especially after standing outside in the evening stillness of dusk with my husband the other day and hearing that same hushed hoo-h’HOO-hoo-hoo in the distance, equally quiet and rhythmic as its nighttime call. For me, there is in this natural scenario a glimpse of the world I inhabit, with its loud, cacophonous voices and constant busyness that swirls around me almost like a riptide that threatens to drag me either out beyond where I want to be or under the waves altogether. The world can pull us away from our path if we do not set our own course with care and intentionality. In other words, if we are not diligent, even vigilant, our voice, our ideas, and even our dreams can be overwhelmed by the clamor of the crowd.
As I walk alongside my teenagers, I marvel at their tenacity and resilience. To me, they are indeed the quiet, confident, and rhythmic call of the Great Horned Owl that carries along and through the summer evening’s cicada concert. Despite the volume of the smaller insect, the owl manages to carry her message into the night, seeking out her companions, her mate or her fellow owls. Occasionally, as my ears tune into the hushed hooting, I pick up on the back and forth duet between two owls communicating with each other in the midst of the noise around them, and I am reminded of the importance of tuning in to my teenagers, hearing them in spite of the noise and busyness of life and circumstances and competing voices.
There is such a beautiful simplicity in the softness of the hooting, and I am certain most folks miss it because the cicadas’ presence is more obvious. I consider my two neurodivergent teenagers in this neurotypical world to be similar in both their beauty and quiet presence, and I cannot help but wonder who will miss the wonder and beauty they have to offer because they are not loud and obvious, not part of the crowd. Instead, they forge their own paths, seeking connections and relationships, friendships and community. In my mind, I see in them the same sort of beauty as the Great Horned Owls who call in the quiet of the darkness, their presence an invitation to wonder and delight. And I accept the invitation. I marvel at the idea that here in this small cul-de-sac-like neighborhood surrounded on both sides by woods we have the magic of owls.
Likewise, I marvel at these two remarkable young women who are creative and tender-hearted and kind. I consider the ways they invite the world into a new perspective, to hear the whispered wonders in their quiet presence, in their wit, in their resounding but reserved delight. May they never lose that. May they never choose to quiet their voices in the face of the louder opinions of others. May they always realize that they have much to contribute to the world and to those who take the time to stop and listen and hear the hushed invitations beneath the world’s louder chorus and cacophony. I know I have been beyond blessed by the gifts they bring to this world.