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Wings of the night, talons of death.
The owl sat on its favorite limb of an old oak tree, peering down into the yard as the shadows of evening chased away the last rays of sunlight. It was waiting for breakfast to move. In the yard below a mouse was safe and secure in its burrow but security did not appease its hungry stomach. The mouse knew that the birds did not like every seed in the feeder. The ground was littered with rejects. It was getting darker and he mouse was hungry, the mouse moved.
I turned the lights out and stopped by the window to look out into the blackness of the back yard. It took awhile for my eyes to become accustomed to the dark. The outlines of the trees and bushes became more defined; I heard the hoot of an owl. From the trees, a shadow fell off a branch, wings opened. An owl silently glided toward the ground. The mouse munched on the seed as silent wings caused darkness to become darker. Alerted, the mouse sprang for a nearby chipmunk hole, as talons closed.
I watched the owl flap its' wings and return to its perch. It stood silently wrapped in the shadows of night, to look and wait again. The mouse would remain in the hole for a long time. The hunger was gone, replaced by the mixed emotions of fear and safety. I crawled into a warm bed and I drifted off to my own shadows.
In the tree the owl again waited for breakfast to move. The sentinel of the night knew it would not take long.
Last edited: Sun Jan 02, 2011 5:08 am
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Owls own the night.
Nice way with the prose :)
Owls have always been one of my favourite birds of prey. The fact that they hunt at night, have excellent hearing, vision and are so silent make them totally fascinating.
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