Seeing beyond the owl images, on this site, that accompany the poem, How to build an Owl, I glimpsed a yellowing picture of my Mother and her owls. The owl was her totem animal. She collected statues, paintings, anything with an owl theme. You get the idea. I thought it a silly pastime and I found it vaguely embarrassing. Like ornithological garden gnomes. Honestly.
Late one morning though, when she could no longer get out of bed, she looked out the window and said to her companero, " Look Michael, an owl."
A barn owl had landed on a tree branch. As he gazed steadily at his acolyte, she drew her last breath. I wonder, if she had a preternatural knowing, that one day she'd ride home on those wings.
AG
And then there were three. Welcome aboard.
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