The Howling Owl
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The Howling Owl


dawn / dusk


photo by author.

the gentle glow that gilds the upper tips
of topmost branches in the steaming dew
(young leaves, translucent, let the photons through,
suffusing treetops), light that almost drips
like ghee or honey, spreading slowly, slips
across the canopy; the world renews -
diurnal brightening of upper blue
as coffee-addicts slurp initial sips.

much later, after tumult, heat and haze,
the amber glow retreats; slow fingers cling,
reluctant lingering on branchlets’ ends;

by now the light itself seems slow and dazed,
has thickened to a weary amber. rings
of bats take flight; the light recedes, descends.

photo by author.



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