Barn Owls in Suffolk Rosary
I watch them for a long while, the pair rising and courting the field in daylight, the strange geometry of their faces funnelling the air,
and everything - their whiteness, their sense of having slipped through from another world, their focus on the hunt –
in the end it all comes down to their silence – the way each feather disperses the air, how each wavers –
and I wonder what omen it is to see two barn owls hunting in mid-morning, so quietly secretive, for surely
there is something in the slow spread of the wing, the moment of inverted flight, the living thing pulled from the earth and lifted.