Three nights ago I awoke to the hooting of an owl. With hoots, strong and loud the night hunter must have been in the old Maple closest to the house. Up until that night I had only heard owls while camping.
For the past two nights since then when I wake up in the middle of the night, first thing I do is lay here and listen. Hope-filled that the nocturnal visitor would return. The anticipation adds a bit of spice to the insomnia.