Scowl of the Owl
the crackle
of dried twigs cracked
the steep stillness, the quiet
of May's blistering noonday;
gray owl,
from the dark foliage,
flew out into the sun's glare,
losing then finding its way;
noiselessly,
it flapped upward,
in slow spirals, scowling down,
then, blindly, soared far away!
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