By Carolyn Muchhala

Twilight. Late autumn. A whoosh of wings above,
so close I instinctively duck. A barred owl
lands on an oak branch not five feet from where I walk
and turns its black-plastic eyes on me. Transfixed,
I watch it watching me. Neither moves. The woods still.

Finally I start walking. The owl follows, winging
from branch to branch as if weaving the air overhead.
Unsettled, I turn back and round the bend toward the cabin.
Again my escort swoops and perches. Silhouetted
against a window, yellow-lit, that owl
watched me watching it until I disappeared inside.

Some believe in spirits or in messages from beyond.
This life gives all the glory I can handle.

Published in Birdsong: poems in celebration of birds, Foothills Publishing, 2016;
Your Daily Poem, posted November 30, 2018.