issue 6
// poetry
Owl-Wide
by Emily Halnon
An atmospheric river is about to get undammed
over the Pacific Northwest when I find two screech
owls, small and cute as kittens, under the umbrella
of an awning. People walk by, eyes flooded with screens,
oblivious to the tiny wonders hiding in plain sight.
My brother used to joke that I wouldn’t notice
if someone painted the neighbor’s barn neon green.
And that was before my first phone, before apps
and inboxes grabbed a rod and got me hook, line,
and sinker. They say the average adult will spend
17 years of their life online. I’ve never looked
at my own screentime because I know the data
would cut like a rusty knife. I think Emily Dickinson
was right when she said hope is the thing with feathers,
because birds might throw a lifeline to the months
and years drifting away. That wasn’t why I got binoculars
a few months ago, I was just another middle-aged woman
who wanted to look at birds. But once my eyes were owl-
wide, I couldn’t stop looking: at the rainbow of songbirds
chirping from every other bush, at the branches that start
hooting when the sun slinks into the cellar, at just how many barns
have been painted neon green while I’ve been looking away.
about the author // Emily Halnon
| Emily Halnon is a story collector and teller out of Eugene, Oregon. She is the author of the national bestseller, To the Gorge, and can often be found sharing snacks and trails with her best friend, Dilly Pickle Chip. Her writing essentials include strong coffee, orange cardamom pastries, and running shoes. She prefers the outdoors to the internet but she recently created a new space to share poetry and lots (and lots) of birds. If you’re into that kind of thing, you can find her @owlphabet.soup |
Instagram: @emilysweats
Substack
wildscape. literary journal 