She glides
Silently through the night
To perch on the branch
Of a tall spruce tree,
Her small body
Effectively camoflauged
By a massive coat of gray feathers.
As she tends her young,
Her mate takes flight.
Large eyes
With exceptional sight
Allow him to navigate gracefully
Through the forest,
Until he finds
His own perch
Where he settles
With a resonant, booming WHOO,
And nonchalantly watches the ground.
But soon he dives
With stealthy swiftness
And a mouse's life
Sustains another,
And another,
As the owl returns to his nest.
Rebecca, your poem reminds me of a story I wrote in, Windy John's me' tut. In my book, my father and his friend captured an owl and took it home, put it in a chicken coop and when my father's dad opened the pen, the owl hooked his claws inside his nose. He passed out near the chopping block and the kids were in the doghouse for the longest time. They never did catch another owl! Enjoyed your write.
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
The songs and art in this book are about our collective emergence after the pandemic and trauma of the last few years - comprised of 5 collections: World as Refuge, Where We Live, In Our Hands, Rhythms of Change and What We See & Sow.
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