I like the clicking of wrens
Reminiscent of old metronomes
That have abandoned meter and keep
Ticking to their own rhythm
A flash of gray--
Huge on the periphery of my vision—
Causes me to pause,
Look out the kitchen window,
And see perched on small mossy branch
An owl, alert
Dark eyes focused on undergrowth.
I stare for long minutes,
Admiring fluff and black-ridged feathers that
Accent lighter gray, soft down underneath,
But above, the eyes, wide circles of intent.
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