Great Horned Owl

I was out walking on the Root River Trail in the early morning east of Preston, Minnesota, passing under a canopy of thin trees, the sun ahead of me, when I saw on the trail at my feet the shadow of a massive span of wings. I stopped and looked up into the trees, and there above me, directly in front of me, staring down at me, was the first great horned owl that I have ever seen in the wild. It was as big as a terrier, and I thought it looked at me as if I might be potential breakfast. I don’t know how long the standoff was, probably no more than a minute or two, but I just stood there in the trail, staring at the bird, the bird staring at me, neither knowing what the other was thinking. Finally, I called it off and proceeded on with my walk, passing beneath the great owl in silent awe. About half an hour later I passed again by the spot, heading the other way. But the bird was no longer there (of course). I’ve passed that shade of trees any number of times since, and each time I slow and look around through the limbs, hoping to see the giant again eyeing me. But it has yet to happen. And probably won’t. But it did once. And that’s firm in my memory, and enough.