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Flying Home

As I lay here drifting in and out of consciousness no longer able to discern reality from dream, I fight hard to focus on anything that may have some semblance of being real. The only thing I can somehow sense as a part of the living world I will soon depart is the steady gaze of a snowy white night owl. Occasionally I can even hear the haunting sounds of his voice seeming to bellow out announcements or perhaps updates of how close I am to entering an unknown world. Each day I struggle to fixate on that owl scarcely hearing what people around me may be saying because I know that owl keeps me connected to reality somehow. I know it’s real. I know it is somehow connected to me.