One night, as a boy, in a wood growing dark,
Out much later than was good for me,
I stopped and watched a sitting bird,
Huge and still in the greying light,
On a vigil, on a branch, in a tree.
Some way from home and out too late
I should have hurried on.
But with the glow of its eyes
And its clever disguise,
All thought of being late was gone.
–
Its coat, it matched the bark of the tree.
It sat, a silhouette in grey.
With the poise of a silent guardian,
This bird with an ancient soul
Waiting for its prey.
–
To my young eyes the darkening scene
Was a comic book depiction.
There was a wonder in the moment;
A pastiche of TV images
All based in science fiction.
–
I stood stock still in the growing chill.
Was I emulating the bird?
With natures akin
Our heads would spin
Whenever a sound was heard.
–
I wondered if it minded me being there.
A young lad, facing it square.
Were my thoughts so wide of the mark?
Were we silently bonding in the dark?
Was this something that we could share?
–
At once, it dipped and glided past.
Its wing caressed my hair.
Was this a hello or a sign I should go?
I wondered whether I would ever know,
As I stood shuddering in the cold night air.
–
I cannot say how long I remained,
Standing alone on the track.
It is hard to say
Why there’s such lasting dismay,
That my owl never came back!