Essays

Signs of winter

Post & Courier, November 20, 2021

The approach of winter here in the Lowcountry is marked by the hoot of an owl, a sound not noticed or heard in the heat of summer, when the air is heavy and thick, and the constant hum of air conditioning and the whir and click of fan blades, muffle all sound.

In summer, the owl uses the canopy of leaves for camouflage and serves as a buffer and refractor of sound. Its “hoo h’hoo hoo hoos” are lost in the thickly draped verdancy of the coastal South.

We know the owls are there in July, August and September, handily decreasing our surplus population of mice. We are just too swaddled in the artificial cool of the indoors to notice.

Then, in October, when the 32nd parallel tilts ever so slowly away from the sun, the air tempers and the hum of air conditioning grows intermittent.

By November, it seems that the natural world has come creeping out, but it is us who do so.

In the still, cool nights, as we lay half-asleep in our fan-silent bedrooms, we hear the hoo h’hoo hoo hoo of the great horned owl.

He calls, then pauses, perhaps hoping that a mate, or we humans, will hear. Then he calls again. And we do hear.

We count the hoots, his calls a parallel rhythm: same beat, same tone. And when we are sure he is finished, he calls again.

Curious, we raise the window, step out onto the porch. Is he done?

No, there he is again, with his soft hoo h’hoo hoo hoo.

Assured of the owl’s continued presence and comforted by the existence of another living thing, awake in the depths of the night, we return to our beds.

Pulling the covers close, we await the advent of sleep, resisting its pull for a few moments more, until we hear one more hoo h’hoo. Or two.

JOCELYN CHABOT

Charleston