Barn Owl Pellet So this is what I’ve ended with. A set of skulls upon my page – two empty helmets still intact which rest on their incisors. The pack was black, tight-packed in felt, dropped like a bomb which might have scattered bits and pieces, body parts but as I pick the pack apart finding in fur, nail-clipping ribs, femora from a miniature dinosaur, a mandible with its row of molars aligned in order like corn on the cob – here’s another to lay alongside – all these little light-weight bones bone-white and clean after their sojourn, a burial of sorts, I find no trace of flesh remaining – just disjointed skeletal fragments wrapped in fur to protect a delicate throat now collected into sets. All that remains of once warm mice, shrews and voles, has been gathered up and rearranged upon this page. I draw close. That which was rejected – this dusty debris, this residue is momentarily moved by my own