about an owl

about an owl
my body aches, I’m sore,
my knees are chafing raw
trousers hang heavy
from last night’s storm
I’m far from home
on a quaggy pathway
and it’s sunrise
I prop my punctured bike 
against a hedge,
my elbows on
a five-bar gate
at the majestic patchwork  
of fields of furrows
stretching to a distant
Stone Age barrow
and beyond
from nowhere
an apparition – 
fulgent in half-light
attracts the eye
a silver weft
of stately owl
the heavy loam
a gunshot
a ‘lifetime’ later
(it seemed to me)
the owl returns
flying but struggling
I guess she’s dying,
I shake my head,
take up my bike and walk.

© coolhermit 2023
Views: 441
critique and comments welcome.
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What else could you do?
… and tell us about it of course. Nice one, Rick.

My lips are sealed. Promise.


Oh no! surely there aren’t people who shoot owls!I suppose there ae. Love your poem though.

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