In the hush where the lantern fails,
And even my wife’s breath is soft as moss,
I hear the owl speak without words—
Not warning, not fear—just knowing.
Darkness is not an enemy here.
It is a presence, not a void.
The owl does not flee the night,
She drinks from it like a well of truth.
I used to crave light for answers,
Clinging to clarity, even when it burned.
But she—my love—taught me grace
In not needing to see to understand.
So I wait, not for the dawn,
But for the shape of wisdom
To form in the dark,
As it always does—
When I remember to listen
With more than ears.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf