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     Woo was storming through the night screeching as she flew; Wise Old Owl flying high in land of red, white and blue. Heavens they were obscured behind shroud of storm clouds, Woo was on the hunt for meat and her stomach growled.

     Woo was happy for the overcast that hid harvest moon, though it made hunting more difficult it hid her from poltroons. Little chicken people, on which she longed to sup, made for easy targets if they saw naught when they looked up.

     Onward through the night Woo surveyed her home terrain; like a bullet tried to fell a rabbit but she swooped in vain. She was silent, she was cunning, she was brutal, she was fast and she did not hesitate in quest for her repast. Owl saw no brutality in her nightly hunt; she worked to feed self and babies, culled the Earth of runts. Unwary, hungry field mouse scurried through the grass? Woo was on him in an instant, swallowed him up whole and fast.

     Upon her little perch Woo takes a little break, spins her head to check her backside, falls not for prey’s mistake. For though Woo is a hunter she knows she’s also game; recognizes that survival rests on knowing world’s not tame. Woo can see the future but she can turn and face the past, understands predation is destined to last and last. The big fish eat the little ones whether by sea or land and it’s great, mighty hunters who have the upper hand.

     There is talk among men of lions bedding down with lambs but if you ain’t a lion, baby, best know that talks all sham. The law of the jungle, what Darwin wrote about, is eat or be eaten situation, of that there is no doubt. I’m not saying that it’s pretty or gives us warm fuzzies but a lot of us are putting our heads in chopping blocks it seems. Cooperation should be founded on trust but verify ’cause when a shark utters, “Believe me,” you can be damn sure he lies.

     Woo is out there hunting, doing the job of an owl, and though it isn’t pretty from truth we must not recoil. We’ve a biological imperative to do as we’re designed, if you think world’s full of nice sharks I fear you have gone blind. Each of us is hunter and each of us is game and the first ones to get eaten are those both blind and lame. We all need to work together in name of liberty but wearing rose colored glasses makes truth awfully hard to see.

     Woo was storming through the night screeching as she flew; Wise Old Owl flying high in land of red, white and blue. Heavens they were obscured behind shroud of storm clouds, Woo was on the hunt for meat and her stomach growled.

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