the park paparazzi

an elderly crowd

along

the trail gathers

with

cameras

and binoculars,

expensive gear for

all kinds

of weather,

together

as one they stare 

up into

a tree

to see a bird

of some kind.

they hold up their arms

and point.

saying look,

look,

there it is.

i ask,

what's going, what's the deal

here?

a large

woman in a bright yellow

parka, holding

a Nikon camera

and a cinnamon bun

shushes me.

quiet, she says. be quiet.

we don't want to scare

it away.

we're watching a great

owl.

they're rare

in these parts.

i peer upwards as the cameras

click furiously

away, but

i can't see

a thing. just

leaves and branches,

limbs,

the brown trunk,

and a small

sparrow flying by.