Another Barn Owl ... appearing and disappearing in the same moment barely seen ... And a poem by RS Thomas BARN OWL Mostly it is a pale face hovering in the afterdraught of the spirit, making both ends meet on a scream. It is the breath of the churchyard, the forming of white frost in a believer, when he would pray; it is soft feathers camouflaging a machine. It repeats itself year after year in its offspring, the staring pupils it teaches its music to, that is the voice of God in the darkness cursing himself fiercely for his lack of love. ii. and there the owl happens like white frost as cruel and as silent and the time on its blank face is not now so the dead have nothing to go by and are fast or slow but never punctual as the alarm is over their bleached bones of its night-strangled cry. by R. S. Thomas from The Way of It (1977)

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