Dear Raven,
Our human species is under intense observation by many beings. We've become numb and dismissive of the signs they leave, sounds they make, and distractions they cause. We're unwilling to question our senses. We've dumbed ourselves to fit a worldview I know is profoundly inaccurate.
Between 2000 and 2014 I did a lot of fishing in remote streams and ponds around our home.
On one of these occasions I carried a lightweight rod a short distance from an old railroad grade, then through a thicket of alders to a small boathouse set on the bend of a particularly prolific stream. The boathouse is a beautifully constructed little cabin, with a small second story room with a bed, table, chairs, and woodstove.
Two or three canoes are stored in the ground level floor below.
I was there to fish from the sandy bank in front of the boathouse. There's a deep hole full of trout. The stream makes an abrupt turn and changes direction, and the force of the water carved a deep channel close to the bank.
I had been fishing for only ten or so minutes, without much luck, I sat for a breather and set my rod against the log cabin. I suddenly noticed in the sand, behind where I'd been casting, a large footprint made by a naked foot that was at least 14 or so inches in length.
Upon noticing it I heard a loud noise from behind the boathouse. I walked to the back of the structure and heard footsteps, as if some being were evading me by circling the building in the opposite direction.
I tried chasing it, clockwise, then counter clockwise, and each time I was able to notice an accumulation of footprints including my own, but never could catch sight of the party evading me.
Then with a sudden burst I reversed direction and caught a glimpse of a human-like foot and heel disappearing around the corner. It had dark hair on its lower calf, but the skin on the sole was a light tan color. Foot and sole were visible for just a flash.
-:-
During the 1990's I was in the habit of visiting a cabin located on the shore of a nearby lake for an overnight visit. It is accessed by a three mile or so walk along a grown up lumber road. The cabin sits on a point along the western end of a long deep lake.
I spent the evening by the lakeshore watching a screech owl flitting about the low hanging branches of giant pines surrounding the building. It was a moonless night, and became quite dark, yet I was able to position myself to watch the owl perch on a branch just a few feet distant. Then owl and myself would look into each other's eyes, as if we were friends, almost mesmerized by each other's gaze, until it flitted off to go catch some mice. Then it would return and the same process would start all over again, and in exactly the same spot.
In that diminished light. all I saw was a slight glare from its eyes, and the recognizable saucer-eye outline that all owls have.
Suddenly after one of its abrupt disappearances I spotted another set of eyes, immediately behind, eclipsed and in the same relative location the owl had taken. This face seemed to be masquerading as the owl. To appear a similar relative size, it was much further away. The face was expressionless, and and in the loamy dark I squinted to make out human features.
In the solemn darkness I regarded those other eyes just as I had watched the owl. Yet this was no owl. The head was enormous. It had sunken cheeks covered in dark fur, but its eyes, nose, and mouth were hairless. I was in no way frightened or worried. In fact an extreme calm overwhelmed me.
In a blink, it was gone. The experience left me with a profound peace. I went inside to bed, and slept soundly.
My very best,
Postmark Winter Owl
