How often does a burrowing owl get a shower?
I am watching the burrows as the first raindrops fall;
Only one small owl is out there, alone like me.
He spreads his wings as the light rain begins,
And he is looking up, ignoring me.
“Are you giving thanks?” No answer,
So I pull out my prayer beads
And give thanks for both of us.
Just in case.
Summer. Cloudless sky.
My face is brittle from grief,
My skin is the thin shell
Between my life and my death.
I could be reborn, or
I could simply join the darkness.
The emptiness. I raise my arms
And give thanks either way.
Cloudless sky. Summer.
Blinding ignorance does mislead us. O! Wretched mortals, open your eyes!
-Leonardo da Vinci
Things are not what they appear to be: nor are they otherwise.