Late afternoon soggy
New Year’s Day
the Widow Wyile went walking
under the gray bank of sky
unexpectant of marvels
in the fresh and secret mix
of moist and semi-visible air 

Halfway down her drive
her attention was called up
by movement through the gloom
a giant wingspan swooped
and folded itself closed
Barred Owl perched on a branch
settling its damp feathers
to stare and be stared at 

Though its hoots
permeate her dream
in open-window seasons
a good six years or more have passed
since the Widow and an Owl
observed each other
she on the ground
owl in a tree
turning its head
as owls must do
left  centre  right centre  left
intense aware peering 

this time the fantastical face
those eyes
what eyes

those eyes
that face
that face
      appear
steely  barky
otherwordly
gray-green seeming
      head       haunting
apparition that
will stick
for days
or longer 

Along comes a bluejay
as if nothing unusual
were afoot       a-wing
alights above and behind
and soon
both birds
fly silently on
through the dank air 

The Widow Wyile recommences
her walk to the road
turning left along it
and there but a few paces on
in the field across the road
upon the ground
sits another large bird of prey
a juvenile eagle
            looking around
            for a time
until it gathers itself
        rises up
flaps its mighty wings
        perches
           high
in the nearby tree line

Was that a lump of old snow
though none other was visible
or a grey body of some kind
it had been sitting by? 

What a momentous walk
in very few strides
what significant sightings
what honour
to behold these birds
she thinks 

and then
short moments later
lying at the end of the drive
two houses down
a black plastic rat trap
                                    why?
with a dead mouse
caught by its four feet
                                    how? 

majesty
natural order
atrocity 

which will stick longer
owl or mouse?
feathered saucer eyes or tiny trapped paws? 

would the owl
had caught the mouse
fed the circle