Return Of The Night Owl

Eyes snap open from silence, silence, I gasp, trembling. The swoop. Thunderous and forceful, it pushes the whiskers against the grain. One two three. The nerves in the legs scream “run!”

it darts downward toward my brothers and sisters on the field. Oh the swoop. The fear it’s thunder puts in me. Frozen but eyes wide I look up. Movement will call him in. I mustn’t move a whisker. Above me the apex holds his wings passive, wide, sailing as if gravity were only a subtle tug. Mere seconds of moving gaze, a gamble in itself reveals more intelligence. A prize. The apex isn’t alone.

Alone on her perch, she turns her eyes up. Her blue eyes adorned by the most beautiful of feather. Claw golden, as if painted for royalty, every whisker framing her face off in beautiful waves of silver.

Aroused, her feathers flutter. He’s back! She pirouettes on her toes, her chest swells subtly, pride she permits, this being her dominion. Her eyes adjust in the dawn of his swept wings. He is back!

A majestic blue and silver crown adorns his eyes and beak. Moments pass as their eyes lock. His claws are bloodied from the hunt, feathers missing too. Across the way a third hoot is chimed, to signal the change in territory. He had gone into someone else’s yard. The calls were on. Again over the field they wait for their own spoil. Each yard a slightly different tongue

Anxiety for resources renews in seconds. For the night has just begun. As they hoot and cackle they discover that this is the third moon they have both grazed together. Swelling chests softly brushing together in silent song of dance.

Yet as owls do, they cannot speak

they commune until they oscillate together

They observe moments as they right beside one another

turning to stillness, eyes wide, like stone

With the new forming silence, the mice adorn the field.

Never once did it cross a mouse’s mind, that an owl would not sleep at night

Silly mouse.

Never once did they consider that things could change

The mice were on their rails you see

Like all the beings in tune with the sun.

Except man, who’d lost his place in the stars by accident

For he had created his own version of the sun

And then put it in everyone’s pocket

year over year it become their god, and thus the death of many men was as sure as it was silent and long, because the sun warms as it burns

It was slow and silent

Silly human never saw it coming until our Sun spoke in colours.

we opened the floodgate, by merely imitating Him.

Human laid down rather than tame himself

Silly man.

But not the owls. No. Nocturne always had its merit. We can still see. We can still hear. and we can still hunt.

The sun it’s low, and then as light fades, the hills come to life. Insect, tides of bird call heraldiing the day. Longer and longer they watch. Silently. A wing settles. Shadows shift angles showing progression of time. Movement closest to them stops. A hop. And then suddenly, thunder claps in trilogy.

swoop swoop swoop.

Mice are darting left, right and left.

Further and way they scurry hearts in their throats, the white of the ground lumiscence pulling them toward survival. Magic guided them.

Over the view of a haystack there are three field mice In a line seemingly working to save a fourth from a fall.

Clever mouse!

The king is joined by his queen

Together they circle one another

The highest perch envelopes the scene from above.

They both settle and still their movements

Breath in

Eyes up

And drop, nose first, to catch one

Flipping it into the air by accident

As they both tug limbs apart.

The kill is visceral, bonding, alluring

She circles him and flutters around the eyes

I can survive tonight, with him. The moon calls for it. She abides.

Gracefully sailing up toward the humming sky, upward for the pride

Turns bearing, wings spread in swoops for the mercy

In descent her golden blue eyes lock eyes with her prey. He glanced back with in gratitude, arms already gone, free of pain as the light takes him

He knows its time to fade away, and that if he dreams enough he will run again in another field

Over the horizon, lights from sky, and dark dark clouds rumbling across the distance.

All birds stop and turn toward them. A dog barking in the distance.

.

Hide. Dont’ let them see you. Hide!

The flashes come and disturb the womb she’s hidden high in the field

Back to the nest she rushes

Back to the pride he swallows

Above, they watch, the field comfortably nested back to order, with attention drawn to one one single mouse as he scurries up the line against the grain.

- In front of the others he must get. He gestures apology to some but not many! Generals orders! His whiskers and nose signal flight from overhead. He must find the linesman. He must.

-

- The word is that they may not survive another family of owls coming. Two hoots could mean four or six predators it was only a matter of them crossing the yard.

Scurried is not an adjective fitting to describe it. This little heart burst with fire only a true soldier knew. the swoop of the third owl came as no mean feat. He thought he was gone in the first. But then he felt light as a feather as he ran across the way. Surviving a second would not be his folly. He thumps into the general of the line, disturbing his view.

Both creatures startled, scurry their hands at one another. The general stands superior, one paw on his head forcing it down. His nose and whiskers say all that is needed. Not a noise come from him.

His leader spoke clearly as he releases his grip in recognition “You have done well!”