Hallmark of an Owl

A college friend of mine posted a picture she took cross country skiing.
I could describe the whole damn thing, but then what's the purpose of you reading this poem?
Maybe if she gives me permission I'll post her pic here.
(The one below I "borrowed" off a Google page.)


Hallmark of an Owl

In a morning wood, on cross country skis,
She marked odd tracks by where she stood,
They were the tread marks of a vole,
Abruptly ending with a hint
  Of  bracketing wingtips imprints

She thought, Raven, Hawk or Owl at feed,
Who’d rend smooth snow with two such holes,
What thief in the night could do this deed, to
Silence prey’s prayers as it broke in?

The first hole’s where the vole descended
Once seeing a specter above on a wing,
To then quick tunnel inches further,
Believing himself an invisible thing

A Raven will steal nestling chicks,
Eat carrion, beak bugs, take sticks,
His feet don’t have the talent, though,
To grasp a vole under fine snow

But this winged ghost above the white,
Had better ears than eyes to sight
How far the fleeing vole had got,
Before it struck feet first it's spot

And with that thought, the skier knew,
To hear it’s prey that well,
  this fowl,
Bore all the hallmarks of an owl