Secrets of the Owl

Red Eastern Screech Owl



Ginger moonlighter, striated 
in cinnamon spice and cream,
beautifies the stage with backdrop
of an ebony-stream horizon.
He perches alone 
like a sculpture carved from 	
bark. Glossed in ginger, sparkling eyes 
penetrate darkness in golden amber 
gaze. Spiced wing-span drapes into sky, 
as small creatures scamper 
in wind song before his flight.
Then, harmony breaks into harsh 
screeches of hunter to midnight.
Instinct infuses the senses - a sullen
lowering of head before swooping in 
to the hum of quivering fields of grass 
and restless rhythms of beginnings and ends. 
He descends, crested in darker shades of crimson, 
piercing the shield of night, with a sudden 
shift from grace to strength.
Outside my window, I see a swift shadow, 
like a sprinkling of spice, and then all is still.
I am desperate to know his secrets,
so, I ask him to come, please, teach me his ways.
Teach me, in ginger swirls, how to sway the clouds 
and charm spirits watching from the ground.    
He never replied, but burrowed deep
into my sleep, a rusty-red, gentle heartbeat.
All is wild in dreams -
One glimpse of a miracle
One glimmer of light
One fleeting moment
calls me to believe. I am convinced, some answers, 
we are not meant to receive.

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