Walking in the predawn hours,
I startled at the sound of an owl’s call
in the woods to my left.
There is something primeval
about an owl’s song.
Predatory, watchful —
owls can wait patiently
in the dark
for just the right moment
to strike.
The morning’s encounter
lifted me from the ordinary
suburban streets
back to the woods of my childhood —
where sounds were larger
the darkness deeper.
With equal measures comfort and thrill,
I stopped to scan the trees,
the elusive owl
just out of sight.
Yet, the rhythmic, measured hoots
assured me
my company remained.
Afraid to break the spell,
my dogs and I stood still
for several long minutes
before the pull of the day ahead
dragged us forward.
With the sun up and shining,
my mind continually wanders back
to the owl in the dark.
Where is she now?
What happens to the magic of night
when the world pushes on?
A Reading Life 
Such mournful sounds that owls make. They are magnificent creatures and definitely warrant stopping and listening to their calls
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I love how the sound of the owl transported you back to another place and time. Love the nostalgia of this piece.
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Beautiful cadence and imagery here. I love your subject and how it lifted you from suburbia to memories of your childhood home. What a treat to see an owl!!!! You have memorialized that encounter in a striking piece of poetry here. Bravo!
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I love the sound of an Owl as well – this is a lovely post. The lines, “where sounds are larger…the darkness deeper” when you are describing the woods of your childhood just grabbed me. I am never able to see the owls, just hear them…
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Oh, so beautiful! I loved these lines: “back to the woods of my childhood —/where sounds were larger/the darkness deeper.” and also the ending.
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You perfectly capture the eeriness of an owl’s call perfectly. They demand a silent obedience from us, or else!
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