A couple of years ago when I was in Tokyo, I heard about these places called “Owl Cafes.” I thought they would be peaceful rooms where people sat and drank tea and read books. Owls would be sitting on perches preening themselves or staring and relaxing. Somehow I imagined that they would be someone’s well cared for pet and that they would be accustomed to living in the city, brought there by some odd circumstance. My wife and I researched one of these cafes, checked the address and then set out on foot to find it. After getting lost and then being personally guided by a very helpful woman, we arrived at a sterile looking building and stepped inside. The owls were there and they were beautiful. There were a bunch of them.  there were barn owls and burrowing owls, and types I had never seen before. They sat on perches or in boxes but instead of chilling or sleeping, they were busy. Trainers prompted them to fly from their perch and land on a person’s arm. Everyone wanted a photograph with an owl. It wasn’t the romantic scene I had imagined. But in that year of wandering the planet, unsettling events happened every day, things I didn’t see coming. Like the Owl Café. But there was also usually something magnificent or unexplained within these situations too. I stood there, taking in the craziness of the Owl Café, grappling with my mixed feelings at being there, when I noticed an owl sitting perfectly still by a window. It sat by itself sort of looking down at the city below. It seemed removed from everything but at the same time oddly in charge. The wizened supervisor. And so here was that explainable thing. It was the way the owl occupied its own space, the way it sat anchored by something I couldn’t see, and completely unencumbered by the strangeness of the activities around it. Even though it was surrounded by an enormous city, it remained singular, a thing unshakable in its wildness. it never forgot itself. I think of this owl now, whenever I feel swallowed by  chaos or strangeness. I think of it sitting still and quiet its talons gripping the wooden perch as snow falls on the streets below.

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