Night Vision (Poetry)

There is an owl in the wood watching ...
I am that owl — brown and old
sitting so quiet in my feathered suit
my head turning this way and that

My eyes full of moon I perch in the night
and watch the moths dance
the odd dithering bat
who strays from the pack — his cry
                                        high and wild

I see shadows move sly
careful reynard and shrew
the nocturnal and slow
hunting terribly soft through
                                    moist undergrowth

I hear twig-snapping scuffles
and the smother of death
or the last breath that rattles
there’s not much I miss

A sentinel sat in the whispering oak
counting the stars as though I don’t care
for the plump little mouse
who thinks herself hid
by the stalks of long grass
but I know that she’s there

I catch sight of the vole
as he tests the night air
cautious and round as he follows the trail
down to the water’s edge

Out of a bramble bush
fearless in spines
a hedgehog comes grunting
searching for supper
a nice juicy slug if he’s lucky

They think they’re invisible
yet I know each location
the raiders of henhouses
small nibblers on mushrooms
and predators of insects —

I detect all that crunching
and chewing and sucking
the banquet’s unending
as far as my vision can see

I watch over my patch until dawn comes
creeping pale through the forest
drop a small packet of bones
for the curious to post mortem

then wing towards my dusty barn
flying over a fellow-hunter
in the lane old Jess the farm cat
slinking her silent way home