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?

6 thoughts on “Owl

  1. 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!


  2. Anonymous says:

    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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