I run into my owl-whispering friend again at the lake, and she tells me for the third time—and this time with phone photo—where to find a tawny frogmouth owl on the lake’s eastern edges. I thought I’d looked at all the trees she’d suggested, up and down, round and round, every single forking branch. And now, when I get to the spot she’s shown me, I walk along a well-worn path, and not more than a couple of arm lengths from the ground, directly above, in plain and simple sight, there is the owl, looking back.