The Girl and the Owl

the forest-green rangers

at the greeting center

at the head of the forbidding canyon

remind her each time she comes

that the owl a day’s hike in

is just a stone formation

a few hundred feet up

half again the size

of a full-grown oak

perched where the impression

of claws grasps what appears to be

a giant limb of petrified wood

but she knows better

from the trees she climbed

when she was a small girl

left free to roam

her parents tolerant

becoming

gone

too little for words

up close and alone with

the grace and the stare of birds

she makes her journey

three or four times a year

with her brindle mastiff

along the dusty familiar trail

camps at the base

waits for dusk when

they are alone

to watch as

the ancient predator awakes

stirring slowly from sleep’s depths

drawing from the rocks

the increments of life

the massive head turning

the yellow eyes scanning the horizon

to take in whatever is left

its feathers shaking fluttering

its wings unfolding spreading

to block out the last of the sun

thrusting its hungry body

up into a jeweled night in search

of prey and sacrifice

she has never been afraid

and so she returns again and again

to this sacred place

she knows what she sees and

she sees what she believes