The Sound of Ink

She sits on my shoulder,  a feathered sage whispering to my dreams about a tomorrow I can’t see and doors yet to be open. With the gentle touch of my hair resting against her owl feathers I feel the caress of angels who  watch from Capricorn’s moon, and loneliness feels less empty. Outside my window trees write their wind stories across the glass. Without a sound the owl stirs  the silence with its wings. Within me the knowing forms, it is time for her to leave to write her own page in the journal of midnight. ©Susie Clevenger 2024  

Tree limbs decorated with brown leaves write their ode to change on the moon in autumn’s calligraphy. Today and tomorrow sit on owl feathers waiting for midnight to slip one into history while the other gracefully relinquishes its crown of future. I feel the weight of inevitable lift from my spirit as I surrender to my own metamorphosis. The starlight song of ancestors plays as I write a new chorus. ©Susie Clevenger 2019 Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Change