The warmth of my home
\nextends outside the window panes
\nto the barred owl resting
\non the pear tree. She has no need
\nof it; football-sized, her tawny feathers
\nshield her from this bitter wind,
\ntwo feet of hardened snow cover,
\nsustain her. Hungry, she waits
\nfor a feckless mouse. Butchering
\nher own meat, swallowing it whole,
\nshe has no need of stores or deliveries.
\nShe may be readying for the long
\nhunkering down on her own nest.
\nUndeterred by the radio blaring
\nthrough the glass, she swoops
\nto the metal cross of the clothesline,
\nalights, her talons sharp and hidden,
\nthe way frostbite creeps up on you.
\nShe peers at me through the glass,
\nas I peer at her, then resume my typing.
\nWe enter the dusk together,
\nseparated by three wingspans. <\/p>\n
Sustenance The warmth of my home extends outside the window panes to the barred owl resting on the pear tree. She has no need of it; football-sized, her tawny feathers shield her from this bitter wind, two feet of hardened snow cover, sustain her. Hungry, she waits for a feckless mouse. Butchering her own meat, … Continue reading Laura Rodley<\/span>