A Granddaughter's Snowy Owl (poem)

In search of an obscure little ski area,

we drove along a snowy road on a dark

ridgeline in the Catskill Mountains where

snow fell constantly from gray-black skies,

as the wind blew swirling drifts above our

car wheels that made it hard to turn.

We found nothing but deep dark woods.

"Are we lost without a map," our little

Clare asked with a frown on her face.

"Not yet, not yet," we all responded.

At last we came upon a crossroad and

there we saw a sign for distant Albany,

and Clare shouted, "Look, a snowy owl!"

Sure enough a large white owl with bright

yellow eyes stared down at us from a pole,

seemingly questioning our wisdom of being in

such a place far from the rest of the human race.

Clare usually isn't very noticing of natural phenomena, but she sure was on target that day of the snowy owl! JUst a few weeks ago she noticed a pocket gopher burrying under a picnic table near Estes Park, Colorado.