The Owl
The summer air cools
And the first crickets chirp
In the descending dusk
As dry grass and gravel
Crunch beneath my sneakers
Perched on a stump
A great horned owl
Swivels his head back to look at me
Startling me from scattered thoughts
Of celebrities, financial woes
And childhood nostalgia
We lock eyes for a moment
And before I can reach for my phone
He flies away over the ravine
Leaving me to wonder what
Divinely owlish thoughts
I startled him from in return.
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