(image courtesy of http://thegraphicsfairy.com )

Dream: I’m at some kind of gathering…it’s outdoors. A woman a few years older than me has a tent with several raptors. She has an owl perching on her left hand. She asks if I want to meet the owl. Of course I do. I hold up my left hand, and Owl steps onto it. She’s very lightweight. We touch foreheads, and she (Owl) stays with me for the rest of the dream (which I don’t remember).

I woke up smiling this morning. Owls are a mature woman’s totem, a symbol of Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom and arts. Could it be that I am finally nearing the end of the ride on the menopausal crazy train? Will my wise flow soon be stored inside? I hope this is a sign of that. I hope that the touch of our foreheads imparted the wisdom of the ages to me, and that when the time comes, I can share it as needed and appropriate.

In the broader world at this time of year, the conversational call of the barn owls punctuate late afternoon walks with Oakley at the forest preserve. They have been kind enough to acknowledge my calls and response, perhaps taken a bit aback by my efforts.

The elongated who-o-o-s are not just a request for identification, but a question to contemplate as the northern world descends into the short days between Halloween and winter Solstice: who am I, really?

More importantly, who do I want to become in this about-to-be written chapter?

At this stage of the game, all I can do is get out of my own way and let myself evolve.

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