Through the daze of sleep too long in coming and not long enough enjoyed, came the sound of an owl. I would have guessed owls don't exist here anymore - it's been that long since I've heard one. The solemn voice calls to me through the veil of unconsiousness and captures a recent memory. In the still shadowed light of daybreak I conjure the images of the vision I had recently. The large eyes of the owl shining through a pitch black sky above a dancing lady. Could he be talking to me? I fight against the pull of the freshly laundered sheets and drag my mind toward wakefulness. Nothing stirs. There are no sounds of cats playing, stretching or scratching, no breeze blowing, no traffic sounds from the nearby highway...nothing but the lone voice of the owl. I find great comfort in knowing we do, in fact, still have owls around here, and wonder briefly where he may be nesting. I feel relieved; and oddly revived. I find dragging myself out of bed after such little sleep not quite as daunting as I first thought it would be. In the dark of the kitchen downstairs I switch the coffee pot to "on" and stand for a moment to listen. The birds have started their morning chatter and I hear one last whoo-hoooot calling faintly from somehwere in the shadows of dawn.