A Cry in the Night

It is 3:30 in this quiet and very dark morning. There is no moon above the dark skeletal  arms of the trees,  but the cozy temperature of 50 degrees F makes up for the darkness outside. Unusual weather for  late March.  I had been in a light sleep, as it seems a deep sleep is never something I can count on. When nights are warming into spring, I turn off the heated bathroom floor and push down the quilt and know that my sleep will be even more easily broken. I like a cold bedroom.

I had been dreaming about something, something to do  with  Cardinals and Bishops, perhaps from the murder mystery that I had  been  reading just before falling  asleep at 10:00.  What  brought me wide awake?

I sit up in bed and the dramatic sounds of a  goose break the silence.  The honks are loud and sound  like  panicked cries  rather than the usual party banter that  we hear when the winter geese are visiting  here.   Those geese have all flown north now  and the only ones  I  see in the daytime are the two that are nesting on the former osprey platform.  For the last two days the goose has definitely been brooding and  I see her  gentle  shifting as she places her breast so carefully on  the  nest  now  and  again.  She  sits  there all  day.  There are  eggs.  The gander is not seen  as  often.

Yesterday the  female osprey arrived and the pair swooped high above the river and over  the nest in  survey.   There was a  little bit of  arguing with the  interloping  geese, but not as much  as  I would have expected.  Maybe they have another nesting area  as  a back-up plan.  I was surprised there  was not a greater war.  I was surprised at the mixed emotions I felt in  all this spring drama.

But maybe these noises tonight mean there are night-time maneuvers?  

The honking begins again and it is compelling.  I throw back  the covers and  get out of bed and head out to my deck.  I open the door quietly and  in my stocking  feet cross to the far left side of the deck where there is a view of the nest.  The air is perfect and calm.   There is now silence except for when I reach the edge of the railing  and the clumsy crashing of a frightened deer to my left can be heard flailing his/her way to the far side of the ravine through the thin woodline.  He  can  see me, but I can  only hear him.

 I wait and once again the loud honking of at  least two geese in two different areas on the water rises up to me.   I cannot really see clearly  to the river but I hear the geese in dramatic cry.  I also  hear the slapping of wings on the water.  The noise continues for a few more minutes and  then all is very  quiet. I had grabbed the binoculars but can only see a ghostly outline  of the nesting platform and no motion.  I see the lights  across the way on the  water but no swimmers.

I know  that osprey are not  night birds.  Could this be that great horned owl  I saw  last summer?  Would he be strong  enough and brave enough to drive a goose from her nest?  Would her eggs be his  reward?

I sigh  and return  to the inside.  I will not go back to bed,  but will  write this post and then wait for  dawn, maybe to see the  answers to my questions or maybe even more questions.