Disharmonious

My daughter with her hermit ways,
wanted to find a place
where she could rest from daily trial
of ever faster race.

She hurries home each evening
to sweetness of seclusion.
Her garden is her refuge where
she's safe from an intrusion.

As she sits on her patio
with woodlands all around,
she revels in the harmony
of pleasant Nature sound.

It is a soothing symphony
where every note is true,
until a raucous, rasping sound
is added to the brew.

It's penetrating, quite unlike
the other voices heard.
She can't say if it is human
or animal or bird.

This happens every evening
amidst the sounds sublime,
the harsh discordance comes again
and lingers for a time.

She's been searching through a field book
to solve the mystery
and all at once she finds it there
as plain as plain can be.

It nests in barns or tree hollows;
the eighteen inch barn owl.
Its voice a clicking, hissing screech.
The owl's a foul voiced fowl.

By: Joyce 4/26/04