Vision

Amid this hazy waking twilight comes a vision from a friend
Of early morn as thunderstorm and lightning flames descend.

A snow white owlet is reveal’d by flashes in the violent sky.
She sits atop a pine tree unafraid if she should die.

Her wings are spread as if to say, “I do not mind the falling rain,
And choose to bask in it awhile as long as it remains.”

And so she sits, a peaceful eye within the rolling hurricane
But from her outer restfulness she notes an inner strain.

And searching with the calm of one whom on tranquility relies
She finds the peace that within her own inner tempest lies.

And sitting now inside and out in harmony with strife she blends,
Serene and patient waiting for this finite squall to end.