Feathered, she whispered.
Feathered, she winged.
“The night is leaving the land,
you know.”
I was curled up
and blinked slow
and sleepy.
“What, Spring is coming?
The air tastes like snow.”
The owl regarded
me with yellow
moon eyes.
“Who will you be in the sun?“
Then she spread her
white wings
and with the winter
was gone.