I am moving through life covered with flesh. I don’t believe in time or in fate, just in the random events of the moment at hand. When, at last, I shake off this flesh, the moment is gone.
The burrowing owls stand and watch closely as I walk by; have I come to threaten them? No? This is the anxiety of death that we all know. The burrowing owls, small, colored like the earth, like the cold ground, relax a little as I pass. I can see this. O cold night, let them know peace and comfort, these little beings who look at me and think of danger.