All along I’ve meant not to start with a question, but to end with one; and to invite more questions. But between the book (I Heard the Owl Call My Name) set in the waters of the Inside Passage between Vancouver Island and mainland Canada and the fact that the owl is my mom’s totem the question begged to asked first. I certainly don’t believe that hearing the owl call you means death – at least not physically – though at times I wonder if the calls portends the end of a part of one’s life. When looking at an owl, fairly close up, and in the wild I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are creatures primordial and magic. An owl has given me a gift by allowing a photograh. Their eyes and their watching and waiting silence have me convinced that if I could just climb aboard and latch on for the ride I would never fear in the dark again. And that I could be as deadly a predator. I’d also like to be the owl calling in the night and conjuring up the full moon and glassy, still water – this is the magic owl, and much more appealing to me. Their quietness and stillness makes owls seem wise. How often would silence have been the better road to wisdom for you?