The sage owl, Orion, sits perched on a branch
amid the tree tops,
sitting and watching and pondering
What was and what could be.
Is he wise or
is it just his quiet nature?
Alone watching the world go by.
Nighttime: his time to shine.
His eyes are sharp, intense
despite missing an eye.
At dusk his husky voice
laments the passing of another of day..
Still sitting but now on the hunt, watching.
He transforms from a quiet wise soul
to a predator:
Swooping slowly down,
he preys on the little creatures
scurrying so far beneath him.
He returns to his perch
satiated and satisfied
Surveying the underbrush again
Looking for other easy prey:
Not wise,
but, condescending and unflinching
Looking at me.
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