Skip to content


Owls

A child asks me what my favorite bird is. It’s one of those wonderfully simple questions that only a child would ask. Though I’ve never considered it, I knew the answer immediately. “Owls are my favorite birds,” I say, “because they’re smart and powerful.” The child nods solemnly because I sound serious. So I add “I would love to be an owl for a night,” winking with my voice.

____________

“If the Owl Calls Again”

by John Haines

at dusk from the island in the river, and it’s not too cold, I’ll wait for the moon to rise, then take wing and glide to meet him. We will not speak, but hooded against the frost soar above the alder flats, searching with tawny eyes. And then we’ll sit in the shadowy spruce and pick the bones of careless mice, while the long moon drifts toward Asia and the river mutters in its icy bed. And when the morning climbs the limbs we’ll part without a sound, fulfilled, floating homeward as the cold world awakens.

Posted in Culture.

Tagged with , .