The Barn Owl

This is the neglected field

overgrown with grasses and saplings, 

where the barn owl hunts.

In the presence of the ancient

volcano, Mazatepec,

I raised sunflowers here 

many years ago.

Now it is the field

the horses cross

each afternoon before dark,

walking single file

toward the woods below,

where they hide their young

from lanky coyotes

behind the leaves.

The feral cattle

cross the field too,

screening their calves

behind other trees nearby.

Each night

the barn owl flies,

detecting subtle movements

of mice,

a silent shadow

beneath the moon and stars.

Standing near the edge,

I paused to witness

the final sunset of the year.

In the tenuous light,

the owl circled the field,

then

flew straight toward me!

Seeing its pale, cartoon face

so close to mine,

I laughed and

an invented animal sound

escaped my being.

Surprised, the owl

changed course

toward the gully,

its resting place by day.

Before long,

Jupiter and Saturn appeared.