I see that snowy owls have been coming down into Maryland, from the Arctic, and I think that’s cool, even though the news article says they are merely looking for food, which means there is not enough food where they are, which means they are hungry.
And the birders over on the Eastern Shore are very happy to see the snowy owls, and I am happy for them, those people who are hungry for sights of unusual birds, like everything everywhere is hungry for the unusual, for a letter in the mailbox, for a hamburger, for a glance and a smile. And I would also like to see a snowy owl, for I am hungry, too.
One of these bird-watchers, I read, has set up a Facebook page, and since he posted his first photograph yesterday, 200 other hungry watchers have joined his Facebook group, and I think that’s cool, too, these hungry people getting together, in whatever way they are able.
And it strikes me that the things that satisfy our hunger change as we get older, that what is now the spotting of a snowy owl not long ago was a different kind of meal, a night of naked writhing and kissing and touching under sheets, the window open or not, snowy owls soundlessly swooping outside or not, and that in one way or another our stomachs become empty, waiting to be filled.