It was well north of 3 a.m. when the soft hooting of a distant great horned owl pulled me from the gentle arms of Morpheus, that mythological god of sleep and dreams. In the heat and stillness of the ...
“Every night the owl with his wild monkey-face calls through the black branches, and the mice freeze and the rabbits shiver in the snowy fields— and then there is the long, deep trough of silence when ...
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