A bard speaks on a barred owl

A Barred Owl

by Richard Wilbur

The warping night air having brought the boom
Of an owl's voice into her darkened room,
We tell the wakened child that all she heard
Was an odd question from a forest bird,
Asking of us, if rightly listened to,
"Who cooks for you?" and then "Who cooks for you?"

Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear,
Can also thus domesticate a fear,
And send a small child back to sleep at night
Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight
Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw
Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw.

Who-who-who cooks for you?

There were three or four barred owls calling to one another, swooping silent from tree to tree this morning. Better get the camera fixed if I've any hopes of getting shots like this one from a few years ago.

oh wise one

The Owl
by Wendy Videlock

Beneath her nest,
a shrew's head,
a finch's beak
and the bones
of a quail attest

the owl devours
the hour,
and disregards
the rest.

another bard shot

Who knew the Bard would join us?

A barred owl graced the last afternoon of our PSALM retreat at Camp Fowler. Along with going all paparazzi on the Bard, there was copious song writing, poetry, drawing, fireside laughter, and even a moonlight snowshoe walk! Subzero? Of course!