An owl’s feathers are silent in flight because individual barbs zipper shut so no air can rush through like the sound of desert wind. Each time I find a feather, I brush its webbing like velvet against my cheek. Sometimes, I close my eyes and fan the air by my ear. I hear nothing, only feel a slight breeze.
~ Terry Tempest Williams, Erosion: Essays of Undoing (October 8, 2019)
Photo: Burrowing Owl by Kevin Juberg (via Voice of Nature)
incredibly beautiful
It really is.
TTW is awesome – it’s great to see this epistolary love affair bloom….. your appreciation lets you find the appropriate incredible photos to the words.
An amazing and awesome pairing.
She is amazing. Thank you Kiki
I was *just* standing out in the back yard with the dogs and listening to an owl call out repeatedly. Gives me goosebumps. I am totally fascinated by these stunning creatures.
Miracle, all of it.
What perfect imagery in the quiet of the morning – one can feel the soft tickle of a feather against the skin, imagine a ‘whoosh’ disrupting the air.
Exactly. That feather against the skin. That light breeze. What magic she performs with the pen.
I have to admit, while they are fascinating birds, I also find them a little creepy…
Laughing…
What a fantabulous photo. And of course, it goes perfectly with your choice of text – thanks to you, I downloaded her book…
🙂 Thank you. Great!
🙂
Can’t get over this photo. So beautiful.
Incredible….I agree.
it has all been said… beautiful. grateful for a breath-taking moment.
Yes Carrie, with you.
Beautiful in words & image
It is. Thank you.