When the owl came to Gunnamatta Park This rainy night belongs to the owl roosting above my porch, the one holding a dying brushtail in a chokehold. Like an eccentric old man he arrived unannounced to stake his claim on our neighbourhood. His presence signalled the occult to some, a shape-shifter haunting the backyards, or a golden-eyed conjurer looking for possums wearing only a feathered cloak. During the day he sleeps within the hollow of a rough-barked apple gum near Gunnamatta Park’s remnant of bushland canopy. And we wondered if his fragmented habitat hid a beloved…
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