Listeners, let’s take a moment to discuss measurement. The cardinal directions are North, West, South, and East. The cardinal temperatures are 35 degrees Fahrenheit, 67 degrees Fahrenheit, 3 degrees Celcius, and 10 degrees Kelvin. The cardinal locations are: a cave, a long abandoned cabin, the bottom of an oceanic trench, and City Hall. The cardinal emotions are wild abandon, guarded affection, directionless jealousy, and irritation. The cardinal birds are hawk, sparrow, finch, and owl. The cardinal names are Jeremy, Kim, Trigger, and Jamie. And finally, the cardinal sounds are a door slamming, slight movement in still water, popcorn popping, and a standard guitar G string being snipped with wire cutters. This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.
From "33 - Cassette"
I remember going to the woods as a young boy with my sister and my mother. We used to go about 3 or 4 times each year on a long hike. What I recall most vividly were the owls. Even in the bright of day, they were so loud. So very loud. I asked my mother why the owls were so noisy, and she never answered me. Once I even found a sleeping raccoon, and a coyote was hunched over it playfully gnawing at its open belly. You learn so much in the woods. I’ll never forget those times.
Last Saturday in the woods, I heard the owls again, their low hoots and growls, ever-present. I had forgotten their sound, but it all came back to me. I asked Carlos why the owls were always making that noise, but he didn’t seem to know why, or even understand what I was asking.
[...]
Oh! I do remember owls. I didn’t see any owls. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen an owl in the woods. But I heard them. I remember the sounds of the owls quite clearly. The low drone of the relentless night bird shaking the deepest coils of my inner ear until I could not walk in a straight line, could barely stand up.
I remember a man holding a boy’s hand and telling him about a tree. They look a lot alike, those two. “Go into the tree,” the man tells the boy, and the boy does not want to. “It’s warm and quiet in there,” the man says to the boy. But the boy cannot hear him over the sound of the owls.
I can’t shake these memories. But I can’t express them either.
[...]
Now I remember. It’s crystal clear now. I’m in the woods, listeners, at this exact moment. There’s the sound of the owls. Do you hear it? [pause: no sound of any owl] One long discordant groan. My ears hurt, and my skin is flinching at the cold air. I feel the wind in my bones. There is a redwood in front of me. It is noon, but the woods are dark, save for a small ray of speckled light shining on the base of the tree. There is a hole in the trunk. It is barely wide enough to fit my shoulders.
[...]
It’s Cecil Gershwin Palmer, March 18, 2019. I climbed inside a tree. It’s dark, darker than anything I’ve ever experienced. I cannot find my way back out. I am afraid. I am alone. Above me I can hear the loud hum of owls, like a diesel engine. I am trapped. I am… wait. I see a light. It is so cold that light. I do not like it. It’s growing brighter. No. No! NO!
[...]
Cecil Gershwin Palmer, February 26, 2020. I crawled into a hole at the base of a tree. I was on a hike. I think? It’s so dark in here. I’ve never been in such darkness. I’m alone. Except for owls. I hear the gnashing gurgle of owls, like a chainsaw on low speed. There’s a light. It’s coming toward me. I cannot move. But I must. No!
[...]
Cecil Gershwin Palmer, February 15, 2021. I’m inside a tree. There was a hole, and for some reason, I crawled inside it. I’ve never done anything that crazy before. It’s so dark. Darker than anything I’ve ever seen. Above me, I hear owls, wailing like a pressurized steam valve on a radiator. None of this is familiar. Except that light. Light is filling my mind. I know that light. I know that light. I…
[...]
Maybe this whole show has been nothing. I honestly don’t remember any of the news from today. I’ve been in this job for a long time. Probably longer than I’ve been alive. I mean: you’ve been alive. I can’t remember every detail of every show. Something about owls I think. We were talking about owls. And the weird sounds they make?
From "182 - It Sticks With You"
And behind her on the left, a man stands with one arm on his hip, the other resting on a shovel. His hat hides his face. Then he walks slowly forward, lifting the shovel. He keeps walking forward, downscreen of Jane Fonda, who is still giving the performance everything she’s has, as if some rogue extra isn’t ruining the shot.
The man then lifts the brim of his hat and looks right into the camera. His lips are moving, but not like speaking, more like undulating. It’s hard to hear if he is making any noise, because the audio mix on this movie was terrible. I could barely discern any other sounds beneath the electrical hum of the owls.
[...]
But before we can see him, fully. Cut to black. Credits. Suddenly I was unsure. And under the credits, the sound of owls, that rhythmic, hissing sound that owls make, you know, like hydraulic pumps lifting a car.
[...]
Maybe I will meet him again. I’d like to ask him about the owls. I don’t think they’re supposed to sound like that.
From "192 - It Doesn't Hold Up"
And the specific content was different in my drawing, too. There was a line of owls perched on my tree, and instead of a flower garden, I had drawn a shovel sticking out of a pile of dirt. I pointed this fact out to Abby and she said, “No, they’re identical. Look, Cecil.”
We went back to the fridge, and there were, indeed, a row of owls on the tree, as well as a shovel and dirt. This seemed wrong. I remembered Esteban’s tree as having a small round dome of green leaves, but looking at it now, there was no visible foliage, only craggy brown bark and jagged long branches. It was so large that it grew out of the frame of the paper.
Esteban’s owls looked so realistic. I could almost hear their familiar calls. You know that weird high-pitched buzz owls make? Like a dentist’s drill?
[...]
Then I noticed that they weren’t gone, but inside the house. Or at least two of them were. Their tiny happy mouths had distorted into lopsided maws. And the third member of the family, the smallest boy… I couldn’t see him anywhere. Not at first at least. And then I found him, crouched just behind the tree, which had grown even larger. And the row of owls on the branches had become one single owl. I knew that owl’s face. So familiar. I could almost hear the owl in my head. It sounded like a dripping faucet.
[...]
Then we heard Esteban. He was standing at the kitchen entrance, proudly holding up his drawing. He pointed at the tree and asked “I drew Grampa Gershwin?”
The branches weren’t even visible on the paper anymore, the tree had grown so large. It even blocked part of the house from view. I could hear the sounds of owls somewhere, like tin cans in a plastic bag.
[...]
Carlos stared into my eyes for several silent seconds. A concerned, but compassionate stare. Finally, he said, “Oh babe. She did. We stopped Scrabble for like 30 minutes to hear her story. To be honest, I’ve heard her tell it so many times to you, it’s grown a bit dull. Do you not remember?”
I did not.
The sunrise cast long golden stripes across the fridge, and I thought and I thought and I thought. I could hear owls in the crisp morning air, like a flower pot shattering.
From "245 - Fridge-worthy"
Owls in Welcome to Night Vale seem to be especially related to Cecil's father, and those times Cecil died in a tree. Potential relation to his tarot reading and "132 - Bedtime Story."