Ralph

The owl watches me

from his burrow,
"good morning"

 I whisper

 as not to arouse
suspicion of my sanity to
others.

His eyebrows 

   prominent white

his eyes shine.

He is shaded by
a great old tree
with giant roots and
a giant heart
the kind old trees possess .
The red flowers shed

 on the ground
are like a carpet as I walk past .
The owl watches me
and others that
go past him without a second
glance.
I think about an old friend
his hair was grey
and his enthusiasm unmatched
by any young folks.
He was awarded
a purple heart and

the Bronze Star 

with three oak leaf clusters for valor 

 in world war II
He cracked  jokes and he
delighted when I smiled.
He offered help
when he saw me drowning
and wept with me when his mother
died in her late nineties.

He lived and died

on his own terms,

courageous and full of spirit.

When I heard the news

I cried

a wound bruised

inside me.
I think of him often,

 he was one of those
souls that are rare

 and kind

gentle and giant.

His soul saw mine
like the great tree in this park
with a huge heart
like this owl that
watches me

like he can see 

  my soul. 

Connections,

encounters,

spirits entwined as one

for a moment

for a day

forever.