Who?

I locked eyes with a Barn Owl in the woods this morning. We were quietly bird-watching. Me, casually; her, hungrily.

I had donated my hat to my five-year old for the day. Growing cold, I turned to trek back to the car when a clumsy paper grocery bag with feathers swooped an arc in front of me and sailed onto a limb. I trudged behind her and when she swiveled her head to peer at me with a wide, white face and black eyes, I cried out in delight.

I often feel like a misfit in this world I call home. I feel like an alien being. What about this elusive creature who resembles no one else in the forest and preys on her distant cousins? Not too many friends I suppose.