An Owls Journal Entry
An old owl finds himself typing an entry into his journal. He writes a poem, talks about how he grew up and what he enjoys. This is an owl people do know and love from a popular tv/book series, and he has a bit more character to him than people might have previously realized.
An Owls Journal Entry
01.20.22
6:30am
Location of tree:
3rd one on the left of the forest, old's man's beard hangs all around it and if you listen closely, it has a low hum, very lovely exposure to sunlight, perfect for napping.
I am perched upon an old oak tree branch as of current, nice and thick, and has all of its knobs and knots.
Our conversations are short and simple,
Just as it should be, as I have stated many times in my previous writings.
It's been some time since I have found myself indulging in the frivolous nature of writing down my thoughts. Alas, I also find a tickle of enchantment in the tapping of my beak on the metal keys making words out of magic ink and freshly pressed paper. I had a spark of an idea that I found more pressing. At this time, I am usually found enjoying my evening stretch through the playing fields of the masters. Dilly dally they do in those fields, with a winged ball. Why does this gold ball have wings? I thought wings were only on living things.
I have been dreaming of past tense times, as wasteful as one might say it is to think of such think. I find the fondness of writing from time to time isn't all too bad. Now, where to begin in such times of splendid fondness? I desire to write in an even more frivolous manner, poetic if I will. For my youth is where my memories fondness lies. It is where I gain my wisdom and my all knowing eyes.
(2 Hours Have Passed between my writings. I paused momentarily to catch many mice in the fields, a starving stomach is a starving mind)
Here is a poetic ensemble I thought of whilst I was out..
-Lands-
Set flight on wings through starry night skies and interpretive eyes dancing throughout the landscape. A breeze to prickle temperature at the tips of wings, leaving a bittersweet kiss upon them. Oh how the grasses below sway in such ways in which they speak to the calves that soon learn to graze. Gaze upon skies set ablaze by stars perfectly placed in time. Eyes, may they find rest upon the sun's glow, for its warmth is what a heart knows. Of protection and guidance, through times of restful sleep in unconscious slumber.
Wisdom I have gained through life's intricacies, for I indeed, am wise. It is also, I, who have an eye for details that escape others who are of quick intentions. Spring, when it is sprung, is the life's song I desire to have sung. Whimsical wings on airs delightful caresses, I digress and find that my rest is within days slumber. Oh, how the night I find myself fond of so. I dream of dreams that send me to the skies, where flight is not an option, and yet, in dreams it is the only option. Wisps of dandelions dance through the air as my wings graze against lower earth.
Now, to write my memory, though I desire to write as if I am experiencing as if presently.
Memory: Learning to Fly
Unsure of year , Unsure of time
“fly or die”
I leapt as one leaps into the unknown present future.
I leapt..and..I flew. I look down at the grassy earth, with the heart of a wild child. I remember being told that learning to fly was like a lion cub learning to roar. Time, confidence and practice. Dreams as a little one, I had, of flight like this one day. I once sat on the nest edge, to look down at my possible fate. I wished I could sit upon nothing except wings. Wings that could carry my body ever so lightly throughout the rays of the moon in the trees.
From the highest of heights I would be able to see all that the land had promised to me. Earth flourished in fauna, with berries and mice. Oh, the mice are so nice to have, a treasure indeed. I know soon I will find all of the mice in the places I need. Upon many branches I will sit, on my haunches and enjoying the splendor or my plunder. Full bellied with no room to spare, I will take flight once again. I was never meant to just sit there. Friends will join me along the way. I do find time alone enjoyable, but I also loved to play.
We would coo a tune, until the sun comes to rise, and reminisce on the night's appreciated gifts.
I would end my night by thanking the moon and stars for accompanying me through mystic travels.
(Note for memory: Must revisit memory more often)
Thinking back once more, to when I was just a lad...
I carved my name into our family’s tree, spelling, “H-E-D-W-I-G”. I remember watching my relatives fly a lot during that time. I was just a wee owlet. I felt as if I might cry from wanting to fly as I did. Once I learned how to fly, I awaited the day I would be a delivery owl. I was charmed by the idea of spending my days away. I soon carried parchment that was marked with wax of red. I had always wished for treats from my master and pats on the head. Always ending the night's deliveries flawlessly, a job well done.
Oh to be young once more.
This journal has once again served its purpose for the night's enchanting hours.
There is sleep to be slept.
I dream to dream of all flight, being as I once believed it to be. It feels good to remember being a kid once more. I must bid this journal adieu. I hope to write more and add these papers to my stack I have stored in a place I keep in a corner. In an old mind, all you can do is waste time. I hope to come to these pages with more writings of fond memories.
I will end with the hopes of my future writings to be sweetly spoken sonnets and poetic soliloquies. May ballets of words be spoken from my writing's ears only.
Sincerely,
HEDWIG
About the Creator
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