The owlet would come,
the reliable observer said,
in the early evening
and perch atop a rooftop plastic owl,
a scene that kept the neighbors
in conversation over the winter months
until the owlet stopped coming
and the conversation ended.
The owlet was never seen again,
but at night a hooting was heard
rolling over the marsh
and the neighbors listened and nodded
Then on the water one still spring evening,
happens in stories, I sensed a presence,
and turning saw an owl over midstream,
patrolling in a silent territorial flight
to the shoreline where it lighted
with ease on the top of a flagstaff.
With a quick settling of feathers
there it remained as darkness thickened
and then, as quietly as it appeared,
it lifted off, descended
and with a single whispered beat
of its broad wings ghosted down the canal
vanishing in the black