Near Familiar
There is an owl that lives near to me. I sometimes sit sipping coffee in my study while listening for it in the predawn hours.
“Who.” It’ll come to me often as I take another sip before smiling at the familiar sound.
“Who?” I can’t be sure if I’ve ever really seen an owl. I imagine how it must be; the feathers in flight.
“Who!” Its voice is within me. I imagine how wonderful it must be to be perched on a branch. I sip my coffee and can almost see the light growing on the horizon.
“Who.” A faint breeze brushes my hair.
“Who?” An aroma of earthen warmth catches in my nostrils.
“Who!” The wind rushes through my wings as I plummet from the branch to the ground.
A short shriek of terror from my talons startles me before I almost spill my coffee in my lap.
I dwell for a moment on the earthen taste of iron before taking a sip of coffee to wash it down.
I can’t be sure if I’ve ever really seen an owl.
I do know that the taste of the mole is near familiar.