Tuesday, August 2, 2016

The owl did not call my name

but flew by without a sound –
barely above the ground – before
landing on a lower branch
of the cedar we call “Leb,”
then turning its back to me
to display grey-brown feathers
dappled in white to match
the tree’s catch of sun.

The owl still did not call
me nor ask the important
question: Who? Who?
But I know, Lord, it’s You –
The One Who truly
knows my name.

Mary Harwell Sayler, © 2016