by Summer Irons
A poem about one of my favorite creatures
Scanning the ground from the sky, gliding on silent wings.
Searching for her unsuspecting prey, guided by the full moons light.
There's so much to see from this height.
The treetops with leaves so green they looked like perfectly shaped emeralds.
A doe with her fawn, eating berries from a bush.
A rafter of turkeys up in tree branches, sleeping the beautiful night away.
She could see the fairies dancing to the songs of the frogs and crickets by the babbling brook.
She could feel that the air was getting colder and it smelt wet, telling her the rain would be coming soon.
To the left there's movement, a small mouse is scurrying about collecting its own food.
She plunges towards the ground, like a bullet from a gun, her talons out and ready to strike. The mouse has no time to run, before he can blink the owl scoops him up and flies to a nearby branch and beings her feast.
She gives thanks to the small creature for his unwilling sacrifice. Even in death life should be respected. One day she will meet her end and become food for the smaller creatures. As was the way of life, beautiful and tragic.