Sitting in the cold
on the cold porch,
telephone pressed to my ear,
I am distracted.
High, high above me,
I try to listen to two things at once.
(and end up doing neither well)
still, it is a moment.
Tags: owl, poem, Western Screech Owl
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!
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mother. wife. friend. teacher. writer. reader. photographer. birder. quilter. blogger.
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