Crystal thin winter air,
Swirls in the ink of long nights.
The house sleeps, sounds slipping to slumber.
Soft snores, sheets ruffle, someone stirs, now still.
I wait for this time of solitude in the waning year.
Sitting in ashen anticipation.
Hoping to hear, in the frigid air that amplifies everything,
A sound that thrills and awes me.
Beginning to nod, the hour grows late.
No reason, it seems, to continue the vigil.
Not tonight does the air articulate.
I clip the lamp and sit a moment more.
Crystal thin the winter night deepens.
The dark is so complete, It wraps me in its arms,
My patience rewarded.
Off in the distance, the eerie symphony unfolds.
Hooo, hoo, hooo, hoo.
The owls have returned.
Singing their courting songs.
One to another, whispering, "I am here."
And, I am here.
To be alive one more year,
To hear them.
Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka She Who Loves Owls
photo courtesy of T. Beth Kinsey from the Internet