Some nights the stars feel very close. Tonight they are impossibly distant, hung high in the dark sky. The moon is a silver sickle, and there is frost coming. The call of the owl makes me pause, and cock my head to listen again. She is part of this chill night – the soundtrack to winter.
We don’t see her often, though we hear her. Sometimes she swoops ahead of us down the lane, massive and silent. Once we found the imprint where her wings had kissed the snow as she plunged her sharp talons into some small mammal. The spring this year was mild and dry, so our owl will eat well this winter.
Flower faced sister
Swooping silent bringing death
Calling frost and stars
Victoria is playing host at dVerse this chilly winter night – here in the North, anyway. She’s asked us to consider the owl, very much part of my winter nights here in the back end of beyond. If you’re wondering why the owl has a flower face, look here.