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.
