Birds and All Nature: April 1899
THE AMERICAN BARN OWL.
(Strix pratincola).
LYNDS JONES.
Page 2 of 2

The monkey-like appearance of this owl, emphasized by his tawny color and screeching voice, gives him a decidedly uncanny appearance. His plumage is unusually soft and fluffy, but is too thin to enable him to withstand the rigors of a northern winter. Curiously enough, the feathers on the back of his tarsus grow up instead of down, giving that part of his plumage a rather ungroomed appearance. One edge of his middle toe-nail is toothed like a comb.

     

During the nesting season only a single pair can be found in a place, but at other times the species is more or less gregarious in the regions in which it is numerous. Often a dozen individuals may be found in a company. The extreme seclusiveness of the birds during the day makes it very difficult to find them, and they are undoubtedly more numerous than generally reported, and are likely to be present in many places where their presence is not now suspected. They seek the darkest and most secluded corner possible and remain quiet all day. Their noiseless flight might easily be mistaken for that of the whippoorwill. Let us hope that the good qualities of this owl will be fully recognized before his hiding-place is discovered.





A SPRINGTIME        

One knows the spring is coming;
      O green leaves on the branches,
    There are birds; the fields are green;
     
    O shadowy dark below,
There is balm in the sunlight and moonlight,       O cool of the aisles of orchards,
    A dew in the twilights between.
     
    Woods that the wild flowers know, —

     
But ever there is a silence,       O air of gold and perfume,
    A rapture great and dumb,
     
    Wind, breathing sweet, and sun,
That day when the doubt is ended,       O sky of perfect azure —
    And at last the spring is come.
     
    Day, Heaven and Earth in one!

     
Behold the wonder, O silence!       Let me draw near thy secret,
    Strange as if wrought in a night, —
     
    And in thy deep heart see
The waited and lingering glory,       How fared, in doubt and dreaming,
    The world-old fresh delight!
     
    The spring that is come in me.

     
O blossoms that hang like winter,       For my soul is held in silence,
    Drifted upon the trees,
     
    A rapture, great and dumb, —
O birds that sing in the blossoms,       For the mystery that lingered,
    O blossom-haunting bees, —
     
    The glory that is come!

     
W. D. Howells.

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