Tuesday, May 3, 2016

The Return of My Owl

Silence hangs 
in the house,
so heavy and still,
as night settles
over the valley.

The small clock
on the mantle
stopped weeks ago,
no longer disturbing
the quiet with its
ticking metronome.

The streetlight sends
its  amber glow through
the lace curtains,
mixing with the blue
of the computer screen,
the only lights
in the front room.

Senses quicken
as a muffled sound
pushes its way
into the stillness
of the night.

From deep inside 
the throat
of a solitary owl
comes the sound again.

Straining to hear 
through the
thick silence,
the reward comes
in the mournful call
of a lone owl
perched high 
on a limb
of a barren tree.

"Thank you,"
I whisper
toward the tree,
"I'd hoped
you'd come back."

My owl has returned.


  1. I almost always associate owls at nighttime with eeriness, but this was so refreshing and peaceful. It made it easy to put myself in the moment, and I was sad when it was over.

    1. Oh, thank you for saying that. Owls have a special place in my heart. In Native American legend, they tend to signify the coming of change, and letting go. I heard him before my father died, the day I signed my divorce papers, and the day I moved back into my little house after the divorce. I love my owl.


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