George and I were returning from a hike in Nisene Marks when a cacophonous racket shattered the autumnal tranquility.  A mob of Stellar’s Jays was hectoring a small brown owl just around the bend.  As we approached, it tumbled out of a tree, hit the oak duff awkwardly, then skittered down an embankment.  It sought shelter beneath a jumble of logs and nearly disappeared with his perfect camouflage.  I rescued him…or her…I just don’t really know how it goes with screech owls.  It had a broken wing, that much was apparent, and it grabbed my thumb in a fashion which suggested he wasn’t planning to let go.  His oversized yellow eyes were, of course, preternaturally wise.  In this photo, unfortunately, he closed them, so you’ll have to take my word for it.  Sharing my body warmth, he actually fell asleep on the walk home, never relenting his grip with those impressive fingernails.  He went to the animal shelter, where his fate is, hopefully, brightening every day.

Too many squawkers and not enough hooters
Too many peckers and not enough wisdom
Too many charlatans and too few Samaritans 
We do have the choice. 

It’s OK to wear a blue shirt, but don’t be a Jay.  It’s refreshing to live in a Blue State, but don’t forget why.  Open your hands and help the people who are trying to get back on their feet.  And meanwhile, enjoy a taste of the new Salamandre.

Cheers,
Wells