The Mystic

An owl sighting

I saw the owl last night.

Her great wings sliced the silvered air between the pines.

The night, draped in shades of grey, almost concealed her, but her shadow slipped through.

Or, rather, it was her brightness.

For, those wings of tawny grey lit up the air.

And I felt a peculiar frisson of energy engulf me.

It was like seeing a mystic, normally hidden from the world, unveiled before your eyes.

I had heard her cries earlier in the evening.

But a sighting is so rare, I did not dare to hope for a glimpse of the sacred one.

But life is like that.

You can look and look and never see, until you let the energy of life’s mysteries engulf you.

That’s when the magic slips through.

She slid on still air, pirouetting through the start of fog, and, without a flap of wing, vanished into the darkness.

And my lungs told me to breathe again.

This poem, is based on an actual moment in time. Two owls make their home in the tall trees behind our house. We hear them all night long, but rarely see them. It seems almost surreal, when we do spot them, to see a giant bird with a five-foot wingspan gliding silently through the darkness. Nighttime is when they are active. I have never seen them during the daylight hours. And, I always feel blessed with a little magic when I am allowed a glimpse.

I believe that to truly understand a poem, it needs to be heard. To hear the rhythm, the cadence, the emphasis, please listen to my recording of “The Mystic.”

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

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Poem and photo ©Erika Burkhalter.