By Echo
No sound is heard—I am stillness itself,
No pause of leaf—they’re falling hard now,
No waterfowl—I peer at my watery reflection,
I suddenly stand up, and on high I hear beating wings,
The hope of your beats will stay with me,
I am no stranger to feeling alone,
Now I smell the leaf slowly rotting on your recent kill,
Oh owl! it is me, only me,
Please don’t be afraid, I wish no harm,
Your small delicate wings have too much charm,
I see myself down here and you in your tree,
With the rotting shell of a leaf I stand rooted to the spot in the hollow,
The sun sets in yellow then orange against a bold blue black,
Happy I am to meet you at the end of the day,
The entire day gone now, the night at my feet,
The feeling of belonging is true,
My predator, I hope to follow you again,
My wingspan proves it, my heart is moved to the sound of it,
Our wingspan is long and we are gone,
Against a cool black night away in flight.