January, Great Horned Owl

I haven't managed to write about the Alamosa owls, but before I finally leave the subject of owls behind,  I looked up a poem I wrote some years ago, when we still had the guest house in North Truro, and were spending the winters in Dallas.  Another gift of visitation from a great horned - in a house we rented that winter - we also rented a hot tub to put out on the patio, and it was one of the best winters of my life.  A yard full of pecan trees, a nearby stream, a sun porch looking out on it all - and birds galore.

    January, Great Horned Owl

A hot tub soak

to wash away midwinter’s

aches and pains,

alone,  I thought,

under January stars,

high bare branches

of the pecan grove,

naked and alone

in warmth and steam.

Until I heard him hunting

in the trees along the creek,

heard the voice that sent

all small things scurrying for cover

 in the grasses, under rocks.

Silence then,

bubbling jets the only sound

in waiting breathlessness.

Rags of cloud chased moon

through branches,

chased his shadow sailing in

on silent wings to settle

on a limb over the roof,

a place where we could

watch each other for a while.

I was not prey that night,

though naked, soft and warm,

perhaps my steam and bubbles

were mysteries to him,

as his immensity and silence

were to me.

Though stars and satellites

continued on their journeys, as did I,

 that night is with me still:

a visit from the great dark god.