I dreamed of a moonlit lake in a pine-filled gorge. The owl unleashed his nightly warrior’s cry.

A rush of wind, a rusting branch – the only proof of the owl’s glory.

A nightly hunt to stretch his talons and exact his precision.

I awoke in the night with a panic, was I the mouse or was I the owl? As I lay back down and tried to rest, what did I hear but the cry of the owl outside my window.