Aside from the plastic owl, impaled on a stick in my neighbor’s vegetable garden, owls seem to be elusive, even though I live in a mostly rural corner of the world. One time, a friend who lived ten miles up in the North Valley’s, showed up at my house with an owl’s wing that she found in the middle of her infrequently traveled road. I studied the details of the feathers with a heavy heart, marking how the fragility of life makes it even more beautiful.
Of course, owls themselves are predators, a necessary, though painful reality that affects all living things. We kill to survive. We live in awareness of the transience of our beings. The more powerful use the weaker to obtain what they need or want. But still I dream that someday we shall live in peace. And that someday I shall see a snowy owl.
white streak across snowy night
longing in darkness
Monday begins the week with Haibun at dVerse Poets Pub. I’m hosting this week and turned to a Kigo closely associated with winter, which seems to be barreling in here in Northern Nevada. I developed a keen appreciation for Owls when I was given Mary Oliver’s book of poetry: Owls and Other Fantasies–my introduction to this poet, one of my favorites. The prompt this week is FUKUROO-OWL. The shirofukuroo is the snowy ow. Please join us at the pub with your Haibun of 200 words or less of nonfiction prose followed by a seasonal haiku. The pub opens at 12 Noon EST.