A Prose Poem
Bats swoop and dive through evening air. Lap up gyrating insects beneath the spreading branches of a sycamore. A barn owl joins us at the water’s edge, elegant and ephemeral. Her presence not often seen at this time, she frequently appears around seven in the morning, winging her way along the river, hopeful and resplendent. Silence, but for the sound of the sea in the distance. I can almost see its ebb and flow, its command of the sand and its fleeting hello. And now the moon joins us, serene and proud, a splendid sight on this balmy ethereal night.
Copyright (2019) MJ Christie
First published in Lit Up: The Land of Little Tales