The owl
Poised, ready. Take flight my friends. The vast awaits.
The narrow gap between here and now, the moment of action and its beginning. That second that hovers, that lingers longer than the last. The question of time, the delay of a moment, that slight of hand, all in an action awaiting.
The swoop.
The movement from stillness. That suddenness of time restarting- beginning to move again. The moments gathering, rushing by in speed and ability. Alive with movement, and moving with intent. Filling each second to the brim with motion.
The capture. The blood red. The feed.
Not what matters, nor what is important here. Sit and wait with me.
Again.
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