Recently the owls have been
silent,
busy,
hungry beaks to feed.
Soon the evening air
will resonate
with their cries.
We all have seasons
of silence,
seasons of song.
Tag: owls
Heatwave
11pm in the garden,
the air like velvet on my bare arms,
unexpectedly warm.
A soft breeze caresses the leaves.
Two owls squabble
under an orange moon
as I savour the silky night.
Nights like this belong to other places.
Reluctantly I return indoors.
The owls sing me to sleep.
Life in the Fresh Air 