The snow had drifted blown deep in places

making walking a struggle

It softened the moor, hiding the gullys

and peat edged rough grass

It stumbled and spread disguising the heather

shrouding the pathways

The brilliant, the muted, the many shades of white

Etch the farmhouses and  stone-built barns to the landscape.

The snow also brings a whispering silence

Underscored by a flurried breeze scattering

confetti over the bridal dress.

The wind drops and there is

a sense of tranquility.

A winter-scape

at a standstill.

Unhurried in its  stealth,

an  owl,

of grace and steel

sweeps upwards and

joins the air in easy conversation.

Rising over wave tops of snow

and reefs of dry stone wall

I watched until

there was only myself,

and the morning.


Former Picture Editor. Now a sometime photographer and poet.

2 Comment on “An Owl in the Morning

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