In the pre-dawn fog, a lone owl quietly hoots his five notes, three short, then two low and longer. He is not the rooster attempting to awaken anyone with loud and celebratory cries, calling attention to himself. The ear must strain to detect his solemn remarks amid the rising bird cries. The owl notes the end of night not the beginning of day. His forlorn and reflective sound is like a last comment on the possibilities of the diurnal cycle, now quietly ended.