Across the middle of the field the white flat shape of an owl swooped down. I heard the air in front of her wings scooped up by a soft cup of feathers. Talons outstretched she ambushed her prey amongst the dark grasses. I watched her circle once, twice more, scouring for the slightest movement amongst the night-kept borders and then off she flew, silent into the river of stars that, on this clear night, flowed thick over the sky.
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