Silent Owl

Last night the owl bunched in the tree
outside our window. Softly he boomed,
and then again, and again, and then was gone,
and not once did we think of the god

of plunge and blood, or iron mouths.
No, we thought, if we thought 
of anything, of the god of pleasure and good luck --
the god of a happy life. Then we drifted away to sleep

over the field, softly, on our own dark wings.


The Owl, by Mary Oliver


This owl wasn't booming in the night, but sitting in a field alongside the road. I took the slightly longer, back way home from work, and just before the Dix Point Road there was a large buck crossing the road. He had a very impressive set of antlers, and I slowed down and stopped, sort of hoping to get a photo but knowing it probably wouldn't happen. There were no other cars coming, but of course he ran off before I could get my phone out. 

That's when I noticed this barred owl sitting in a nearby tree right alongside where I had stopped the car in the middle of the road. Funny how that sort of thing happens. So of course I took a few photos of her instead. I was too far away to get a great image with my phone, so I messed around with it some to make it more interesting. 

And tomorrow morning I can just lay in bed without getting up if I don't want to. Whoo hoo!