I heard an owl
In the time where the noise is flattened
By night's heavy hand,
And the lonely percussion
Of the town's clock bell
Is the only thing that can tap its blankness.
But tonight, something different.
I am lying on my back,
Listening.
The dawn is approaching,
Inching through the gaps
Where dark's defence is weakest.
I am still,
Rigid, like a stone sarcophagus,
Waiting.
And then it comes.
Again.
Its gentle richness fills my soul,
The soft cadence of bird call
Bidding me to listen, to focus while I rest.
What do you hoot for, little owl?
Who, who, who do you call for?
I don't think it is for me
But I accept it as a gift nonetheless.
And as the light dominates,
I imagine your flight to where you sleep
And I reach for your return
And your night-time wooing.
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Comments (9)
This is so beautiful! It reads like velvet.
This poem's "gentle richness fills my soul" .... the call to listen, to focus, to appreciate is much needed.
I woke in the middle of the night and read this poem. It was the perfect still moment to sink into your words. I found myself waiting to hear an owl outside my window. Hope you are doing well my friend.
This is pure, warm delight, Rachel. The midnight call of the owl is an experience to cherish. What a treat it is today to wake up to a poetic offering from you. How are you doing these days?
Nice, hints of The Lark Ascending (which I must confess I only got to know via Vikram Seth's an Equal Music). Good to see you back on here :)
This is just pure magic, Rachel. Wonderful, rich, breathing work - absolutely love it. :)
This is reminiscent of Coleridge's "Frost at Midnight." Deftly done, Deeming!
But what if that owl is indeed calling for you? Would you follow him? Hehehe. Loved your poem,a
Lovely thoughts on nature