A weeping willow talked to me as a young child,
her soft summer whispers beckoned through window screen,
one midnight stole to her side, leafy strands about my shoulders, listened;
cicadas (of which I was afraid) and toads (of which I was afraid)
chirped far off in bush and field.
First time hearing an owl hoot, not from barn,
but an old tree I'd fashioned into fort. Full moon offered light,
so I tiptoed forward, (left Willow's safe embrace) leaned over fence...
a flash of white, whir of wings sent my heart fluttering,
feet scampering back to bed; head between pillow and mattress.
Night sounds muffled and muted.
by Margaret Bednar, July 27, 2019
This is linked with "The Sunday Muse - Wednesday Muse - Night Sounds"