The Owls of Oslo
I cannot see
I hear them over the din of cars
and bells
and the drunken cacophony
of Saturday evening
perched
in crumbling alcoves
of terraced
apartments
testing
their
uncertain voices
The Wolves of Oslo
are hunted
They die
in dreams
shot by those
in camouflage
or color coordinated
parkas
on frigid nights
behind
stolid barns
unwilling to be
judged
The Crows of Oslo
are two toned
cawing out mournful pickings
of song
grasping bleak wires
snow covered and trembling
beneath cobble stone
streets
too tired
from memory
The People of Oslo
are moving
teetering to
and fro
in a balmy Summer breeze
the weight
of leaden feet
fresh
from the foundry
standing tall
upon
their
slumping shoulders
what will they do?
The Wolves
The Crows
The Owls
wait…
Freaking awesome!
Thank you my perseverant and beautiful brother!
Vinny, thank you for reminding us so beautifully that in a world that ceases to make room for crows and wolves also has left no room for humanity. It’s not a matter of non-human animals versus humans, or natural environment versus human environment. The world is, and shall become, either a community of all beings or a post-apocalyptic terrain where no one survives, except the artificial (and who wants to be outlived by a smartphone?)
Amen, dear Sister, I stand with the Crows…