Skylarr Weaver

Horizons

Hot tears streamed down my face that stung in the icy mid-winter wind. On my knees in the pasture of my family’s long abandoned farmhouse, I was a twenty-three-year-old man crying over a bird. Or so I would have been told by most people who didn’t know the history I had with a certain small Barn Owl. An owl that saved that my life once in my youth. He was one of the only true friends that I ever had.