Perched steady sitting, squatting, brooding, eyes half open in freeze frame slowness, cover of eye milky white then that intelligent piercing look. Not to say they are intelligent, that just seems to be the myth. Tawny Frogmouths  a shock of beige and brown feathers, nesting in a tree across from my best friend’s apartment, bunched up together, snuggled in close against the winter. Dormant during the day but active at night, the disco dancers of the air getting out there and boogying with frogs and mice and small marsupials that might taste nice. Swooping along at night using bat sensor sound detection, eyes wide open. I guess street lights don’t help them in their cause. I imagine some small rodent wondering what that swooping flutter was in the moment before they are acquired by sharp talons, before they are ripped into pieces and consumed. The taste of blood and meat filling the mouth of the bird.

U.K, a sanctuary with multiple versions of owls some as big as your head, puffy and perched on cross bars and limbs of trees planted especially. Trapped inside a stadium cage for our observation – what do they do at night? Are they aware of their limitations. All sorts of owls all different colours even a snow owl in  perfect white, feathers as soft as a cumonimbulus clouds, just hanging in the sky.

Night owl, club goer, dancer, looking for prey on the floor, talons of conversation start to dig in persuasively, she doesn’t know she’s caught, but he does. A professional, he carries on his business, eats them for a meal and then leaves. Sated he takes to another night sky looking for prey, hunting in a different neighbourhood to avoid meeting them again…