1 The Owl

The owl came last night
And sat, and sat, and sat,
And looked, and looked, and looked.
It would wait
For whatever it was
It was waiting for…
A mouse, a mole,
Or more.
Chickadees
It ignored;
A grouse,
As big as itself
Drew its attention
And it pondered—
To pounce or not to pounce–
And thought the better of it.
Returning to its searching mode.
Hunched down against the wintry blast
As if it were part of the tree,
Causing one to wonder,
If it really thought it were…
As it sat, and sat, and sat,
And looked, and looked, and looked.
A sudden sound,
Or a movement on the ground,
And its head would swivel ’round,
The black eyes staring,
Its pea-sized brain comparing…
A chickadee flying by?
No reaction…
A car on the road?
A glance…
A tiny bit of snow falling
From the rock wall below,
The slightest movement?
It tenses,
All systems alert,
The body shifts,
It lifts
And noiselessly drifts
Down off its perch
Like a flake of snow
On to some unsuspecting
Prey below.