A Hoot On The Horizon

A damp and foggy haze had set. As far as the human eye could see, its transcendence into the water below; drew a seamless line, forming only along the visible horizon. It had been four hours since the storm passed, and like many hot summer days after a storm, the haze could only settle with the energy of the sun. I walked precariously along the edge, skipping the lightly submerged rocks from the bank, across the surface of the water above. I always imagined what it was like, to live on the edge of a lake; seemingly, with not a worry to give. Over the many years of saving and building, just to create what I considered home; only just recently, did I actually begin to live. I stared into the flourishing haze, watching the light diffuse from the sunset behind. Many shapes formed, as the beauty of natural occurrences could only ever be seen once. In my mind, I recalled the previous rainfall we had. It had taken place in the morning, and by the afternoon, lapsed into a hot and dense pressure. By no means relaxing; not with thirty-five degrees Celsius. Today had become better, and way less exhaustive; providing a sight worth seeing. It felt as if I was wide awake, watching and hearing the water move. After waking up eighteen hours earlier, I could know why I was questioning my reality, or what I considered it to be.

The beauty of the evening took me by great surprise, and since the rest of the summer had been dry and bleak; not much could be taken from it, including autumn, which was passing day by day. I picked up a fine stone, one that had been eroded, probably for centuries. I glanced at the smooth texture, holding it with a strong grip. It had a wave-like pattern to it, and as I threw it, I aligned the waves with the draft. It travelled far, in the atmosphere at first, and then onto the water. I heard the pop, as it hit the water effortlessly; quickly skimming the surface, until a bigger wave pulled it down. I heard laughter in the distance, so quickly, I turned around to check. Two younger boys, seemingly in their teens, stood on the ledge further down. I figured they weren’t laughing at me, so I began walking towards. I called out and asked, out of pure randomness, “Hey, how it is going?” The boy on the right, tall with brown hair, glanced subconsciously, as he continued his conversation with the other. He then waved, as I waved back and continued to approach. I could hear well; what it was they had chatted about. “You guys like watching the view?” I asked. The other boy, now staring directly at me, was seemingly a lot older than anticipated.

“Just my boy and me. … We came out to fish, how about you?”

“I live here… I came to see the sunset.” I responded. The man nodded and glanced at the boy, “John. … The name is John,” I said, consciously hoping to break the ice. I stepped up, also standing on the rocky ledge, as the father nodded. “I’m Julian, and this is Pete; Peter, is the full name.” I quickly nodded in response, first at peter, and then at Julian. I noticed, and with distinct clarity, a small tattoo of an owl. “Julian? … Might I ask why you have that tattoo?” I was curious and had to know, as I had never seen a tattoo of one before; let alone an owl, alive in person. Julian seemed hesitant, and after a momentary pause in dialogue, he spoke with a raspy tone, “My wife, she died a few years ago, … We had matching tattoos to represent solidarity.” He grinned and looked away, as if he didn’t want to share, but felt obligated for the dialogue. I quickly felt bad for asking and formed a saddened expression. Nevertheless, it was still intriguing, listening to his story. “I’m sorry to hear,” I replied, “My wife died many years ago as well, but we never really did anything besides vows and rings.”

The man stood there pondering, his index finger furiously tapping his thigh. “Dad… Are we going to leave soon?” whispered the boy. Quickly, Julian nodded and pointed to the horizon. “Watch the view for a bit first.” I glanced at Julian and signaled a wave, as I began to turn around again, leaving the conversation.

“As quickly as it started,” I thought, unsure why I even bothered in the first place, to approach them, and disrupt their moment. “Sir, wait… I want you to have this, “said Julian, but in a softer, yet considerably reluctant tone. I turned around, to see him holding a pin. The pin had a metallic owl cut out of it, almost as if it meant something. He handed it to me, exclaiming with significance, “I know it's weird and random, but until today, I never knew what it meant.” … “When my wife died, she gave it to me; something that she always wore and could never let go of.”

I stood there confused; and while Julian had frozen in his tracks, it seemed he had no further reason for anything. “I don’t want to keep living this boring and lonely lifestyle... He procrastinated, “I need to move on… Let her go.”

I glanced past him into the sunset, only momentarily, and asked him in a compassionate manner, “I just don’t know if I can help you, sir, I mean, how is this going to help you?”

“I live in the city… Owls don’t survive in the city, not the barn owl at least, her favorite.” … “You live here, in nature; wherever her pin is, is where she goes. … Do you know what I mean now?”

My mind was frugal at this point, and maybe only from the lack of sleep. I had turned seventy-five a couple months ago, so processing what he was insinuating, was like starting a job at a bar. I nodded and glanced down, to notice just how much detail it held, avoiding any type of explanation I couldn’t process. It was beautiful, and life-like too, more than I imagined could be realistic. I glanced up, to see the man and his boy walking away. I couldn’t run that quickly anymore, and obviously, he had other plans; plans that no longer involved my presence. I walked back towards my house, which sat on the top of a hill; only a few hundred feet away from the water, and thirty-five steps up. The lighting had become dim from the horizon, as the shrubs and bushes had overgrown the path, leaving only slivers of detail. It was becoming dark, so I knew I had to get back inside. I began walking up the steps gradually, holding my balance like never. It was an odd night, and as the damp atmosphere became heavy, a winter-like breeze had taken over the dense pressure from earlier. The cockroaches had begun to make immense noise over the waves in the water. The moon climbed into the sky, glooming over the washed-down leaves and branches, reflecting seldom upon their demise. I stood silent for a moment, as I heard a twig snapping, from above my head, but distant to my sense. Quickly, I became terrified and froze on the spot. I looked up, from where I figured the noise had come from, as two eyes glared down at me. My heart began to race, as I filled up with fear. “Why was I scared?” I wondered. I took a flashlight out of my pocket, shaking ever so slightly, as I searched for the switch on the end. It flickered on as I pushed up the dial, and quickly I pointed it above. There it stood, glaring at me, but with a soft expression. A beautiful white owl, like the one on the pin, but alive and breathing. “Had the strange man been right, I thought?” “Was the owl actually his wife?”

My heart began to race more, as it became a mystery to me now, one I could possibly never answer. After my stop and examination, I continued walking closer to the house, arriving at the back door which led to the basement. I turned around to glance. Nothing, not the slightest movement could be seen. “Now I’m overthinking,” I concluded, as I reached down to untie my laces. I took off my shoes very quickly. Following, I entered the doorway and turned on the lights. I finally stood inside, where I was safe from the world. Without thinking, I walked up the old creaky staircase; to the master bedroom, which was on the top floor. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I shut off all the lights, casually laying down to rest. Motionlessly, I listened to the crickets and rodents.

With a sense of nervousness, they scurried below the floorboards, and along the inner side of the walls. Non-clamantly, I closed my eyes, as my mind had shifted to a dream-like state.

I held onto the pin, picturing the owl I had seen earlier; in my head, and carefully listening to its feathers ruffle. I drifted away eventually, and peacefully, to a hoot in the distance. A creature of the night, one of which I had never seen before, and one I would never hear again.”

“We can only become a boundless identity, when we release the identity, we’ve bound ourselves to.”

The End