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.