Three- to five-degree temperature drops in an hour are typical, when strong cold fronts or blue northers follow mild weather; so I am leery, as New Year's day begins with fog and a relatively warm fifty degrees. An eastern screech owl in a nest box at my house puts off its daytime nap and looks out in the dim light. It's been a week since the six-year-old male who owned this box was killed by a passing car, and I'm curious about this new arrival. At dusk the owl sings once before leaving to hunt. Sure enough, he's another deep-voiced male, for females are higher pitched.

Male screech owls won't start to advertise their tree-cavity or nestbox homes to lifelong mates until late this month, when they'll sing continuous, mellow, single-pitch trills. Descending trills that sound like horse-whinnies are territorial defense and more frequent in autumn. Hoots proclaim annoyance, barks are predator warnings, and screeches declare real disturbance; and there are rattles and bill-claps plus juvenile peeps, chuckles, and rasps in my mentor's repertoire. Some people disclaim the screech, saying the owl is misnamed, but they haven't listened to its messages.