The brittle crunch of my footfalls in fallen the snow.
And the great horned owl in the distant trees,
Protecting his territory.
I sense my fallen friends. I sense my father.
My heart quickens, my pace slows.
I sense excitement and joy.
Perhaps adventure still awaits me.
The waning moon
is ready to catch Saturn
in its crescent pouch
as Scorpius and Libra watch nearby.
The Great Horned Owl
cheers the moon's daring.
I don't have to leave the yard