Sitting in the cold
night air
on the cold porch,
telephone pressed to my ear,
I am distracted.
High, high above me,
calling
an owl
hoots repeatedly
calling
I try to listen to two things at once.
(and end up doing neither well)
still, it is a moment.
I recognise that moment!
Yay! Thanks, Juliet. Poetry always feels so personal to me . . . it’s really nice to know that others see things in it that are familiar!