Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

outside deep into the wooded drumlin
north of our little cape cod style home
somewhere in the wetland by the brook
perched up in a pine tree, the barred owl
hooting its familiar: who-cooks-for-you
and who-cooks-for-all, musical serenade
as if to be the Pavarotti of the woods

a performance thought to keep us afar, yet
spiritually as a mystic, I’m drawn to this owl
wanting to know more fully its vocal message
the vision embedded in its magical mystery
possibly embodying Nature’s silent wisdom
stored in the energy of the owl’s tonal hoot
learned during struggle throughout the ages

walking one day down a path in the drumlin
the barred owl majestically flew over-head
gliding so effortlessly between the tree tops
while dropping a falling gift like a snowflake
one single feather, landing softly at my feet
quickly I bent over, grasping the gift in hand
hoping it to infuse me fully with its meaning

yes me, born with an empathic sensitivity
intuitively and emotively, I have a felt sense
as to information stored in Nature’s energy
but this owl feather, I had no felt sense of it
I felt rejected as the feather being discarded
why would owl spiritually deny me to know
any lessons learned in Nature from the past

thinking as I turned away to go, how selfish
followed with my felt sense of the owl’s eyes
not peering at me at all, but way beyond me
as if to give me a premonition of future events
events from a past of causal and acausal acts
waiting for a mystic like myself to fully discern
if I wouldn't over-focus on one act of a feather