If I were an owl, I would haunt you in your dreams.

You waken in the Dreamtime to find me

staring at you with outstretched wings

saying nothing.

You know that this is the moment you have been waiting for

the moment I need your attention.

A deep guttural sound will start

to rise within your chest

as you wrench your inner owl into existence.

It’s not easy to release

your true self buried beneath

the façade of your cultural armour.

The cry of your rebirth

reaches your throat,

hideous in its rasping rawness.

Too long have you denied your ability to sing

out to the night.

I will haunt you until you do.

(c) Cheyenne MacMasters 2013
“orbphotog”