Observant. Stoic. Majestic. The owl is an effect of the night. Twit-twoo. Beady dark-vision. Savagery from above. Ancient wisdom.
Owls have that poetic function that polar bears or lighting have, or the opium poppy: beautiful but deadly. They seem timeless and tireless. Better put together, more organised than your average hawk. Dependable.
I’m reminded of the Tennyson poem:
When cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
When merry milkmaids click the latch,
And rarely smells the new-mown hay,
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch
Twice or thrice his roundelay,
Twice or thrice his roundelay;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
In Hinduism, an owl is the vahana (mount) of the goddess Lakshmi, especially in the eastern part of India. Forgiving my love of cod-etymology here, laksh is the Sanskrit root for “perception, concentration”: owl words. And the bird is a symbol of wealth, prosperity, wisdom, good luck, and Fortune, thus its association with the goddess with the same portfolio. But, owls are also associated with importune: at times, Chamunda (the fearsome aspect form of Chandi, herself an avataram of the mother goddess Durga) is depicted seated on an owl and owls are perceived in parts of India to be a messenger from Death.
Where a pirate has a parrot for a familiar - ridiculous, insolent, avaricious - it is an owl - parliamentary, philosophical - for a goddess of wisdom or of plenty or of death. Twit-twoo.
Owls. I love owls.