The great horned owl is depressed. Those dark feathers over his amber eyes may give him an aura of stern anger, but I know his double- whoos  are thick with sadness. Sitting high on an abandoned limb, blending into the grays and browns of the leafless trees that sway together beyond my backyard, he calls out every night. I can hear him as I'm settling into my own warm bed, alone save for the quiet dog at my feet. Whoo-whoo , he cries, as the moon rises full and happy.  The ow