Among the branches of the trees,

protected by the twilight of the night,

the owls nest,

solitary.

They murmur to communicate, always from afar,

very cautious,

they make no sound.

They inspect their surroundings with that predatory gaze.

They take care of their forest,

watch over their dreams.

Wild detectives,

perceptive,

they know very well who moves,

who gets lost, who returns.

Nothing escapes them,

nor anything that resembles them.

Their friend the moon accompanies them,

silent, the most faithful of their confidants.

The night owls,

they look into the eyes intently,

and after a long day,

they will finally fly home.