The Owl

A large owl glimpsed in flight at the edge of the spruce grove, wings clipping against the locust saplings as it drops from its roost & glides down the hillside through trees as brown as its feathers, a glare off the snow & above, the deepest blue: I think of it again just as I’m falling asleep. The wind is shaking the house, & I am wondering if this is what it feels like to be happy.