5. Tawny Owl

If the night has a voice, it’s the Tawny Owl’s. That familiar “too-wit, too-woo” isn’t one bird calling twice, but a duet between two: the female gives the sharp “too-wit,” and the male answers with the longer “too-woo.” Between them, they draw invisible lines across the dark, marking territory and keeping in touch through the trees.

Tawny Owls are built for the night. Their huge, forward-facing eyes pull in every scrap of light, giving them excellent vision in near-darkness. The soft, downy edges of their feathers let them fly almost silently, gliding through woodland like a shadow. They hunt mostly by hearing, their rounded faces shaped to funnel even the faintest rustle of a mouse through fallen leaves.

They’re resident birds, rarely moving far from the patch they know. Each pair keeps to its own woodland or large garden year-round, nesting in old trees, often using the same hollow for generations. From February onwards, they start to call more frequently as the breeding season begins. By April, their chicks are clambering awkwardly onto branches — “branchers,” as they’re called — still downy and learning to fly under cover of night.

Tawnies feed mainly on small mammals, but they’ll also take beetles, worms, and the odd frog. Nothing about their lives depends on daylight; every sense and skill is tuned to darkness.

When I hear them from here — one calling from the hill, another answering through the valley — it feels like the night reminding us it has its own company, its own routines. The village sleeps, but the owls keep watch, speaking across the dark in the oldest conversation of all.