A Wistful Search for Spirit

“Amaris Chiltus. Amaris Felis.” Arista softly chanted, as she placed her golden snuffer atop the desperate dancing flame and stifled its last sip of oxygen. Her purple votive Abundance candle hinted scents of lavender, fir and morning chamomile and except for the wintery theme of her bedding you would have thought you found the actual scent of the color itself. She twisted her elongated labradorite ring to release its grip on her index finger and set it reverently on a stack of natural stone beaded bracelets that she kept on her bedroom vanity. Contently, she made her way toward her bed. Stopping a moment, she appreciated her lavish, faux-fur Snow Lynx bedding that she had found to enhance the winter season. It was complete with pillows of every shape and size for the geometrically minded, of which she was. Onward, she seemingly floated toward her bed and turned to take a seat at the edge of her mattress. Leaving her slippers at the edge of the sheepskin rug, she once more relished its plushness on the soles of her feet and, then lifted her knees up toward her chest. She glanced admiringly toward her vanity at her waist-high snowy pine tree, an expression of her own tastes. Embellishing her homage to nature, Arista chose a wispy, white feathered boa to cascade and spiral down the tree as well as a pompom snowball garland, both selected from the town’s craft shop. But tonight, she was especially drawn to the yellow, piercing eyes coming from beneath the frosted branches. They belonged to the mini-sized replica of a barn owl, and it closely resembled the one that frequented her own countryside property. She had chosen this little resemblance as it struck her peculiarly from a previous encounter, and every night its intense stare would stir and awe her spirit. Seemingly alive, but frozen still in the tree.

To the door came Royal, her solidly built and lovingly devoted feline. He jumped onto the bed and now joined her in the rumpled comfort of the blankets. With a grand exhalation, she crawled under her flannel sheets, cozy as they were and fumbled with her modern-day magic – Click! with the small white button, she dismissed the tiny sparkling lights of her personally enchanted tree. Maybe tonight she would finally dream of and identify her elusive ‘spirit animal’ and asked for such as she closed her eyes.

Outside the night was sharply crisp. In the dead of winter, it was a wonder there was no snow on the ground, but the icicles and frost were plentiful. This night was more quiet than usual. Perhaps each living creature was rigid with chill and dared not move for fear of breaking like a sheet of shattered ice. Occasionally, her neighbors wiry Airedale terrier would give a Ruff! but even he kept a low profile in the doghouse awaiting the return home of his sociable owners. Then, a low hum of a distant car driving down the lonely country road, adamantly oncoming and then whimpering away all in a moment. And, once again, silence.

Then, a Screeeeeeeeeech rang out! Arista had met him only once, three years prior. Stumbling into the barn at dusk for a gardening spade brought the close encounter to a frightful level, though it was unclear who was more frightened. Arista screamed only because of the surprise as the barn owl swooped out from under the dusted, creaky beams, which was down toward her, to make a hasty exit. It was magnificent and terrifying all at once and ever since, she had longed to see this beautiful creature again. Fast forward to the craft shop, and he was the draw on that day, whilst choosing adornments for her decorative tree. But still, ever elusive, night after night with simply the aerodynamic flight pattern of a large bird in the distance…was it her owl? Was it an owl at all? It was always too far away to discern. But it was surely a silhouette of horror for any small creature foraging; and another curious and reckless rodent meets its untimely demise. Occasionally the remains were found – a small and cylindrical furry boneyard, complete with femurs and skulls. The barn owl kept its presence known, but personal appearances were few and far between with the humans.

Arista slipped into her dreamworld, and the barn owl proved extra active. Tonight, its flight led to the ledge of her bedroom rooftop. The shadow of the bird shined blue and glistened in accordance with the lamp post lighting. The nearly full moon high above and the black starry sky vastly swallowing all below it, also spotlighted the understood strength of this raptor with its eyes glued to any careless mistake. As it sat and gathered all-natural information of the night, the barn owl’s position was fixed between two scenes – one, Arista and her cat, snug in the winter wonderful bedroom and the other, a grey field mouse in the stark, frigid night, fearfully darting its head from behind the lattice of a dormant bougainvillea. The barn owl sunk its head into its narrowed shoulders and downy plumage. With pupils dilating and blood beginning to rush, it made one last consideration to the slumbering human and her beast that lay beneath its perch, and then this beautiful danger careened down to the lattice of twisted vines and plucked the tiny life right out of its delicate little footprint.

The silence returned as the owl finished its meal – no barks, no squeaks and not one car remained at this small hour of the morning. The barn owl made its way purposefully toward its usual domain knowing that the day would soon break. And break it would as the sky began to streak with slate grays and slivers of soft blue. Soon the neighbor’s Rhode Island red would abruptly and repeatedly announce the glorious beginning of a new day. The struggle of cranky, cold engines would sputter throughout the valley as techies prepared for their commute. And inside Arista’s wildcat-patterned sanctuary, she would soon open her eyes. A little disappointed, she might once again lament over a night of uninformative dreams and the still fruitless search for her spirit animal...or maybe she would realize at last.