The Owl
It was still dark when I drove through the North Entrance. A ranger was already in the booth, but beyond that, the road belonged to the dark.
I drove through Mammoth and headed south toward Norris. Fog drifted across the road in a few places. By the time I reached Norris Junction, the horizon had begun to glow. Orange at first, then fading upward into darker shades of blue.
Sunrise is my favorite part of the day. There’s something about those first minutes that makes the world feel new again. That morning, the sky looked like a watercolor.
I was almost to Canyon, coming down toward the meadow, when a great gray owl flew across the road in front of me.
I had wanted to see one for a long time.
I pulled over and rolled down the window. The owl landed on top of a dead tree, and I watched it from the car. I didn’t reach for my camera.
Sometimes I don’t take the picture.
Some moments are too good to step away from. I wanted to be there for this one, not behind a camera.
After a few minutes, the owl lifted off and disappeared. Only then did I grab my camera and walk out into the meadow, hoping to find it again.
I never did.
But I had seen it. And for those few minutes, that was enough.
