Nate Flying Owl Biography

In the dead of January
I saunter beneath darkened clouds
Evergreens remaining silent
Snowflakes drift in speechless beauty
...

The air is wintry
The morning sky is silver
And still the birds sing
I cease all of my actions
...

As my teeth slice into its flesh
Sweet juices spill over my tongue
And steadily slide down my throat
As I swallow chewed chunks of pulp
...

A pair of well used hiking boots
Rest beside an open doorway
Their leather no longer stiff
As the first day they were applied
...

Remember the songs of silence
That have serenaded your life
With unexpected beauty
...