Last week, late in the evening when it was quite dark, I walked across the street from our apartment to grab the mail. For whatever reason, I looked back at the apartment.
There, in the middle of the black sky, was a huge white owl. It beat its heavy wings slowly. I watched it fly directly over my head, turn toward a brightly lit hillside, and drift away into the darkness.
I know it was huge because it seemed like forever before it finally disappeared.
I have a tendency to associate things like this with events in my life--more often than not, I'm looking for some kind of signal, a deeper meaning. Unfortunately, in today's day and age, there aren't any oracles to consult. At least, none that I trust.
So when something like this happens, I let the memory of it sit quietly. Somewhere along the way, something wonderfully terrible or terribly wonderful might happen. Then I can connect the new thing with the old one, and maybe they make sense together.
Most of the time, though, that doesn't happen. And that's okay, too.