The white sheet fluttered down at the very edge of my vision

I saw it fold neatly in the cross wind and drop into the long, frosted grass of the field bank

In that moment, caught in my passing headlight

To all intents and purposes

It had the appearance of a barn owl

Falling on its prey


CLP 12/02/2020

November 18

What light there is not quite enough

Trees spread their boughs

Further, wider, darker

Leafless forms leave the eye prey

To sleight of those bony hands

And to imagined shifting serpentine roots

From where subterranean shapes emerge

While night’s curtain to silence falls

Leaving the owl to hunt at will

The little creatures that dare scurry

Across loose-laid woodland litter

And here the only noise

The kitchen clock


CLP 18/11/2019

On Silence

Quiet school week night

Traffic parked, empty pavements

Not even owls’ calls


n.b. Tonight in Portsmouth the air is filled with nothing but sounds of sleep, while the countryside of Somerset will be alive to the hoots and shrieks of various night birds. This silence is unsettling; un-natural.


CLP 23/10/2019