Owl in the Gloaming
Although real birders frown on it,
I play back songs of birds
trying to lure them out of the wood:
“scree-chee-chee” of song sparrow,
mashing notes of catbird, “what-cheer,
what-cheer, what-cheer” of cardinal.
This irritates the birds.
They fly reconnaissance
over my head. Catbird looping
furtive patterns above me,
crossing the path from tree to tree.
Sparrow chasing catbird,
thinking he’s got too close,
although the interloper was me
in the unquiet afternoon
sloughing into evening.
Now, a monotonous trill,
tremulous horse-whinny
of the screech owl—
unmistakable, hideous laughter.
Then, overhead, something large,
gray, all wing beat and bodily hum.
All other birds go silent,
in the owl’s shadow.
Hidden in the trees,
his scaly, bark-like feathers,
can’t be made out in the gloaming.
Now there’s…