In the early morning hours,
a raspy, high-pitched screech.
It’s a fledgling barred owl,
calling for a meal of meat.

Silent, effortless gliding,
dad in search of his prey,
stops on a tree branch to spy,
disable, and flies away.

Mom takes the fresh prey
and meticulously tears it apart.
Making soft bite-size ribbons;
meal time is about to start.

She lands soft and quietly
on a gnarly tree, limb.
Then securing her talons
let the feeding begin.

She places, soft ribbons
of meat in his beak.
The squeaking subsides
as the fledgling begins to eat.