Forest of Musical Owls

A raspy spluttering emits from a young child's lips, floating air in random waves lap the flute’s mouthpiece – tide motions slowly inwards, determinedly crashing back outwards. The determined silvery sonic hiss interrupts the space usually reserved for intermittent tired old routine dinner chatter, and filtered background sounds through the living room television.

Misty can almost see herself back there at six, attempting an adult flute. A flute which competed with her body length but was so much more accessible than the other instruments laying around her cheerfully humble childhood home.

"With your first breath through that flute, I was awakened to the missing music. The music which had always completed my life," Misty's father reminisces. As a crumpled hand grasps at a coffee cup, his liquid aqua blue eyes seem to be the centre of an aura unfolding from his emotionally powered memories. Lucent raindrops sliding in patterns on the window which frames him, merge with the mood.

A bob-cut blonde, broderie anglaise aproned waitress is lurking closely and clocking their thirst rate. “Oy Jack – care for another Irish coffee?” she slings his way in casual pretence.

“Uh… Pass thanks love,” Jack answers the waitress, then turns back to Misty, "And it was time to return - to the secret forest recording studio."

Misty politely expresses encouragement with her shades-of-blue eyes. I know, and I bet I can guess what happens next? She utters internally.

"I was so inspired, I recorded your flute efforts and added them,” Jack continues, his voice rising with pride and excitement, “as this otherworldly layer to what became the psychedelic rock classic - Hidden Forest Found!"

"I know, dad. And it was just that - little bit embarrassing at school!" Misty proclaims, restraint now amiss, as the waitress hums the melody of the well-known song.

"Yes, yes. But you could have forgotten. So long ago, that was - what - almost 40 years ago?"

"Maybe not quite that long! But almost. I was 5, or 6?"

"But Misty, the story is epic! Wooah. And all the kids loved it too. Do you still remember the story? All the birds came together to discuss what the humans were doing – firstly, to their view - with monuments to war, terror, slavery… Then, what they would do next to the very visibility from their upper sky realm. But it was your haunted owls who alerted all of the imminent dangers of the dark black gasses threatening to engulf the atmosphere!” Jack’s lips quiver with the impact of his own words to himself, “Such an important role, the owls.”

"Ok, dad. If you reckon the music said all that! I always thought the animated video came first, then all this meaning...?!” Misty points out her interpretation of the song that had been applauded and rewarded for such layers of meaning, which reached an unexpected vast audience.

"No! It was the other way - the meaning informed the music video. You need to feel the music…You should slow down your hectic crazy life, and get into the music more, Mist, it's in your blood after all..." Jack’s fatherly warmth is starting to convince her, of something. A feeling, the source unknown and irrelevant.

Misty smiles. Maybe, in some ways he is always onto something.

"Well, that's why you should be happy, in fact elated I think, that... I'm giving you the Hidden Forest cabin!"

The deep forest sojourn turns out to be just in time for Misty. Staring at herself in the elegantly gold embossed woodwork framed mirror, she can see the withered edges. From the straggled ends of her black hair which was once of a more varnished veneer, to the deep hollowed darkness threatening to bury her often more vividly clear eyes, there are signs of wear and tear. The juicy green air allowed all the way through the cabin’s many windows nourishes her skin, and deeper into her soul now though, bringing relaxation. Clarity. She scans the room - filled with bush art furniture items tinged with genius, a fireplace stacked ready for action. Crocheted and velveteen cushions mingle in unexpected ways on luxuriously comfy lounge chairs.

The music room is locked, and she leaves it that way. Out of respect for the musician who wandered into the forest and never came back, her father’s band only ever did so themselves to record the epic

Misty quickly feels like a natural part of the forest, growing into the trees and the rhythmic bird sounds acting as an alarm sound to wake her up each day. A chorus of singing and chirping birds in the morning, some at intervals during the night, when she awoke inside dreams, allowed to watch some of the secret movies in her mind. Dreams were filled with repeated motifs from her city life, challenging and exciting. But there was one voice amongst them, a screaming urgency forcing her to wake up. Every time she woke to this screeching sound, she had another feeling. In those moments, Misty realised she was completely alone, scared of the dark, then seeing a face out the window – that of an iridescent white heart shaped owl she imagined was staring at her. Instantly comforted and less alone, Misty would drift back to sleep.

One night a storm rushed out of nowhere, blasting at the cottage. Demonic winds shook trees down outside and battered at the windowpanes. Once they had forced their way inside, the angry howling winds crushed any candle lights used to fend of complete blackness. Any attempt to re-light them, is repeatedly, instantly met with defeat.

Facing the storm Misty decides to race outside. She knows why and although it seems illogical, even disturbed. She is looking for her owl friend to bring the magical effect of she has now associated with the mystery winged friend, symbol of truth, and knowing of the dark.

Searching the sky, she sees a white gold shimmering trail of wings spiralling upwards, out of sight. Her head falling, it feels like she will forever be trapped in this darkness, the longest night which it seems, may never, ever end. Only stars so far away, an unimaginable distance from this tiny cottage, offer reminders of light. Yet they are that far away, it almost causes pain to look. When she does in a rebound against recoiling at the deep dark fear of alone-ness seemingly inside her again, she sees the spiralling trails of subtle glowing light, approaching. In no time, the owl has returned.

Having brought back a star to the Earth, in the form of a lantern.

The nightlight gifted by the owl delivered a complete sleep again finally. Upon waking again in the cabin it was like the beauty of the forest dwelling in it’s green range of jewel like trees and had been restored. As it is, she realises, really as it has always been.