Here I held Henrietta,
Eurasian Eagle Owl.
My arm still aches from her weight,
and I can still see her orange eyes.
Henrietta, you could have flown
these streets many centuries ago.
You could have alighted on
St. Helen’s Church on Stonegate,
or on Clifford’s Tower.
Children would have pointed,
a whole generation of owl-lovers
born that day.
You could have overseen
the building of York Minster.
But Henrietta, you fly
outside of time,
and leave us only feathers