Ode to the Owl
By Nahlah Rice
As I lay in bed I listen
and hear
the mysterious incantation of the owl.
He is a monk
solemnly chanting compline
“Be sober, be watchful!”
“Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion.”¹
His brown robe hangs down
shrouding him in
solemnity
as he keeps his
nocturnal
vigil.
He is like the moon:
dignified,
full,
ripe,
round,
old and benedictory
hiding between the branches of the trees.
He is old friends with the full moon.
His grave countenance
looks
down on the earth and
watches
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silently
effortlessly craning his
great eyes.
He does not flock, he sits alone and
contemplates
mortality.
Listen!
He is finishing his benediction.
The monk prepares for his long night.
He gathers his robes
and settles down
to watch
unceasingly
in
the
silent
night.
In the morning
the fresh dawn,
he will be gone.
Like the moon, he will set
and wait
until the shadows return
and he begins again
his
solemn
compline
chant.
¹1 Peter 5:8
