it was 70 some odd degrees when the sun fell behind the trees;
the silhouette of an owl dropped from high in the hackberry tree,
wings spread open wide gathering the dusk the twilight the end of day,
pear tree blossoms kissed my shoulders good night as i rounded the walk
into the back yard behind the house beneath the trees beside the fence.
just when i think i can say nothing else about the cherry laurel
or the smell of sweet olives
or the petal scattered sidewalk, sprinkled polka dotted moon dropped,
lighting my way in the darkness,
march shows up again and reminds me there are stories still untold.
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And for that, I am glad.
ReplyDeletexoxo
DeleteI would not have been able to walk by that owl ...
ReplyDeletei saw it from my couch. just the silhouette and it was gone.
DeleteBeautiful words, so true, yes they are. Love that there are more stories to be told. Can't wait.
ReplyDeletei always think there are no new stories, but in truth, every day is a new tale to be told. xoxo
Deletei do so appreciate:
ReplyDeletea bit of owl.
the end of a day.
untold stories.
a bit of owl - i like that. it was swooping down from the tree and just disappeared into the almost-night.
Deletemuchas gracias for the bit of poetry. :)
Glad to see they are still watching over you, those owls.
ReplyDelete