Owl Time

For a few years we had a resident Barn Owl in an old tin barn extension. Then a gale blew down the tin and the barn owl left us. Now a neighbour has one which has taken up residence in one of his barns. A friend saw him the other evening just as night was falling. He was sitting on a post at the side of the lane, overlooking the grass verge. Verges are his favourite place, for it is there that he is most likely to find his favourite food - vole.

I have a small collection of Victorian stuffed birds, of which the barn owl is one. I am sorry about the reflection of the flash on the glass, but at least you can get some idea of what a beautiful bird he* is.

* for he read he/she

Owl Time

In that wedge of time

when the sun has gone down

behind the rise

of the moor;

when the sky is still

tinged with pink

and the moon,

rising over the bare

black branches

of Givendale,

is casting its silver light.

Then you might see him!

He will slip,

silently,

across the grass,

searching, searching

for the mice.

You will catch him

for an instant

in your headlights -

silent, white ghost of a bird.

He'll see you

with his superior eyesight.

He'll hear you

as you pass.

But his mind will be thinking

Vole! Vole! Vole!