Ute Carson: Whoosh

Almost concealed by the glow of moonlight
an owl perches on a live oak limb,
silent and immobile as a statue.
I am transfixed by its impenetrable stare,
spellbound, awestruck.
Never before have we seen each other.
I feel as though I am hallucinating.
Now the owl and I seem 
to recognize each other from ages past.
I am standing stock-still
when in the blink of an eye
wings kite and with a small rustling swoop
the owl is gone. 

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_{A writer from youth and an M.A. graduate in comparative literature from the University of Rochester, German-born Ute Carson published her first prose piece in 1977. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Award Prize twice. Her recent publications include Gypsy Spirit and Even A Gloved Touch. Her Chapbook Listen was published in 2021. Ute Carson resides in Austin, Texas with her husband. They have three daughters, six grandchildren, and a clowder of cats. www.utecarson.com}