Secrets of the Owl

Red Eastern Screech Owl Ginger moonlighter, striated in cinnamon spice and cream, beautifies the stage with backdrop of an ebony-stream horizon. He perches alone like a sculpture carved from bark. Glossed in ginger, sparkling eyes penetrate darkness in golden amber gaze. Spiced wing-span drapes into sky, as small creatures scamper in wind song before his flight. Then, harmony breaks into harsh screeches of hunter to midnight. Instinct infuses the senses - a sullen lowering of head before swooping in to the hum of quivering fields of grass and restless rhythms of beginnings and ends. He descends, crested in darker shades of crimson, piercing the shield of night, with a sudden shift from grace to strength. Outside my window, I see a swift shadow, like a sprinkling of spice, and then all is still. I am desperate to know his secrets, so, I ask him to come, please, teach me his ways. Teach me, in ginger swirls, how to sway the clouds and charm spirits watching from the ground. He never replied, but burrowed deep into my sleep, a rusty-red, gentle heartbeat. All is wild in dreams - One glimpse of a miracle One glimmer of light One fleeting moment calls me to believe. I am convinced, some answers, we are not meant to receive.