A Eurasian eagle-owl, born in captivity, had lived in a cage in one zoo or another for almost thirteen years. One year ago, he spotted a big hole, likely made by a vandal, in the cage. He flew away into the sky above the concrete jungle of New York. Hours later, he soared to fame with photos of his empty cage on the front page of every local newspaper. And he got a name, Flaco.
Flaco swooped and roosted in Central Park, taught himself how to hunt. Every move he made was under surveillance from a distance through thousands of dollars' worth of devices -- equipped with long lenses and night- and heat-vision goggles -- used by the birding enthusiasts. They posted Flaco updates on Facebook, Instagram and X (formerly Twitter), with the urgency of breaking-news reporters. I've been a Flaco fan since the first day he became free. When I read these updates, they produced an instant hit of dopamine, which energized me and helped overcome my writer's block.
Flaco lived briefly in a community garden, and later moved in more urban environs. One birdwatcher reported that Flaco stared at him on a power line when he opened windows to let in the night breeze; another posted a tweet on X, saying that Flaco hooted for hours on his rooftop. The most recent update on Facebook was a grey-haired non-birder face-to-face with Flaco at the window sill for a few cozy moments.
blood-stained feathers
sun glare from the windows
of a glass skyscraper
the owl drifts
moth-like in my dream
false dawn
