Great Horned Owl Medicine

I remember that walk with my Great Horned Owl lying on wilting green bed of grass next to her severed left wing, her eyes so Open Sesame in a cardboard box my arms were graced to carry to her grave. I remember billowing ribbons of vapored breath sweeping out toward yellow brown hay stubble fields, our red barn and fake-brick farmhouse, carrying messianic wonder and hope, worry and fear and unworthy sobs for this Earth, so richly endowed with ionic wisdom, to choose us for her Permaculturing Opera. But, I was eight with much to unlearn, and this may be why Sage Owl had come to vaccinate me, to show me through her dying that Permaculture Tribe mentors me to ask for water cupped in my young right hand, open to her infinite swelling eyes leaking thirsty freedom justice, tipping sea salty balance toward all Earth's shamanic polycultured Tribes. I buried her for far too long, apparently justice flies with older wisdom. We are each ecologically programmed shamans blindly dodging barbed wire fences.