I remember the owl

There's something about owls... all owls, really.  Last night the great horned owl (and, I think, his mate) hooted as the night came on full.  I left the back doors open, put on a sweater, until they went off to do other things.

This morning:

I remember the owl,

His hoot

As the dusk paled

To dark

Last night.

This morning:

The passing faint smell

Of skunk,

The freight train

Rolling rolling rolling.

This morning:

The morning birds

Are quiet

I remember

The owl

In that fading light.

Trinity

I woke up this morning thinking about writing that owl reflection.  It is such a cool picture: three barn owls peering out of a rounded cross shaped window.  So I began.  The owls have yet to make their appearance.  Instead I remembered that breakfast with Possibility and Disappointment, and the later meeting I had with my therapist/supervisor/consultant.  Perhaps you could all hold hands, he said. Maybe you could close the circle.  

I am not on the roster

To preach

Yet every time

Trinity Sunday rolls around

I think what I might say

To clear things up

This time.

A few weeks ago now

I had breakfast with

Disappointment

And Possibility,

Just the three of us.

We all walked under the crabapple.

Possibility and I

Held Disappointment*s hands.

What if all three of you

Held hands,

Closed the circle

In the backyard

And danced?

He asked.

What if?

This morning I think

Why that would be

Perichoresis.

If we danced fast enough

No one

Could tell us apart.

I was glad

Sometimes I wake up with a thought about what I will write... and then other things take precedence.  Like this.  Time to make a hot pot of coffee.

I was glad

To sleep

This morning.

It is cloudy,

Somewhat chill.

Bed held daylight dreams

Of my children

When they were small.

I was glad to sleep in.

Now

The flat of flowers

Just outside the window

Beckons to be planted

In the empty plastic planters

In front.

I have not yet opened

The front door.

Not yet.

The cold cup of coffee,

The last one from yesterday*s pot

Says

Oh come on

What is it to make

A fresh hot carafe?

I was going to write about owls.

This came out

First.