I was headed back to the truck after taking some nice photos behind the church and along the river when I hear a few crows sounding off in the trees across the Wharf Road, sounding more like their scolding cries when they have discovered an owl during the day than the normal garrulous cawing they do when just having a group get together. So I scooted (getting too old to jump nimbly anymore) over the granite wall and poked into the small copse of wood behind the old abandoned Sexton's house just as I heard the familiar common call of a Barred Owl.
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