Lost And Found

The night sky is crystal clear, providing the moon, which sits like a gold coin stamped in the sky with the perfect showcase on a winter evening. A birds-eye view of this quaint little neighborhood awards quite the seasonal show. Outside, a neighbor traipses timidly across the icy pavement, wavering on ankles that defy all laws of gravity. The walls of the two-story townhouse directly next door struggle to hold a muffled rerun of Golden Girls turned up alarmingly loud. In the distance is the hum of winter in full swing, complete with a chorus of snowplows beeping in reverse, shovels scraping walkways, and fresh snow squelching beneath cars passing by.

"Have some more tea!" squeaks a small but enthusiastic tea parlor owner. At only five years of age, Olive runs a relatively successful tea business from the comfort of her bedroom. Her baby dolls and a framed photo of her most esteemed patron—usually kept on the dresser—are her regulars.

"It's time for bed. No more tea tonight…." Olive's mother negotiates while picking up countless rubbery pastries, saucers, and the entertainment for these events in the form of books. "I see you had a special guest at your tea party tonight."

Realizing that her mom is referring to the photo, Olive asks, "Yes, who is she? I talk to her every morning and tell her about my dreams. She says I make the best tea. Do we have time for one more story?"

"No, sweetheart, it's late. We've read, and we've dined, now hop into bed."

Tucked back into bed for the third time tonight and now rubbing one sleep-grieved eye with the side of her small knuckle, Olive pleads, "Just one more story… please!"

"Okay, then we have to go 'night-night.'" her mother adds in a more whimsical tone, "You've eaten snacks, brushed your teeth three times, and tucked in every 'baby' you own. This is the last story, deal?" her mother asks hopefully. Olive considers these things and eyes her mom suspiciously before relenting, "Deal," she says firmly, with a grin, before continuing.

"Who is the lady in the picture on my dresser?" she asks in a not-so-sly attempt to prompt the finale.

"She is your great grandmother, Jean. You never got to meet her, but she would have loved you."

"Where is she?" asks Olive.

Olive's mother continues, seeing this as an excellent opportunity to fit in one more story. "She's on a journey, not unlike the brave and wonderful woman in my story. Once upon a time, there was a wise and powerful mage…."

The child interrupts… "What's a mage?"

"A wise person, like a grandma." The mother responds, pleased with the parallel. She resumes, "The mage, having fought many heroic battles in her life, traveled the world and made many friends along the way. She realized that it was time to embark on one last, marvelous journey. After kissing her slumbering family one night, she left, taking nothing with her. At a nearby dock, a ship floated peacefully, awaiting the woman. Back home, sensing something was wrong, the daughter rushed to her mother's room and found it empty. The bed was made just so, and nothing was out of place. She quickly told the rest of the family, including the mage's eldest granddaughter. Hearing this news, the granddaughter remembered a little song her grandmother used to sing and raced immediately to the nearby dock.

I've lived a life fit for a queen

But there's an end to all good things

If I leave you, please don't cry

We'll meet again, by and by

To the water will I go

A ship awaits my precious soul.

I'll travel far and soon will find

A place to rest my weary mind.

Just as the granddaughter reached the dock, the boat was already too far in the distance. She was immediately overcome with grief, as she was unable to say goodbye."

With as much concern as she could manage, "Oh, no…then what hap.." Olive asks, drifting off.

The mother, lost in her thoughts, trails off, too. She leaves the story there, not wanting to use bedtime stories as impromptu therapy sessions. The child is already sound asleep. She tucks Olive in with a kiss, pays one to the photo of Jean as well, and holds it for a beat. If only her daughter could have known this remarkable and irreplaceable person in her life. "If only," she sighs, "…a wish for another star."

The moon on this night is peculiarly bright; its gleam weaves daintily through the lush pine trees just outside the window before meeting the edge of Olive's eyelashes. One eye pops open, followed quickly by the other. After realizing that she has managed to outlast her curfew and is now witnessing the "big people" hours, Olive sits up cautiously—as if being awake would alert the toys in her room. She carefully surveys the looming shadows and silhouettes, solving the mystery (for now) of whether the toys move when she's not watching. That settled, her attention is drawn to the window. She can see the ruffled shadows of the branches bouncing rhythmically on the wind, but another movement—a more deliberate one, catches her eye. Majestically perched in the corner of the windowsill is…a creature. Olive is amazed that at nearly a foot and a half tall, the being manages to fit on the ledge at all. She arms herself with her trusted unicorn slippers, then makes her way across the room to her tent which stands dutifully against the wall. She peers around in hopes of taking another stealthy glance at her visitor without it noticing. Instead, she's met by a now completely swiveled, ghostly white face, softened only by a natural, heart-shaped outline. Two prominent, black unblinking orbs focus on the girl while bobbing around ever so slightly on an almost mechanical neck. Olive stumbles backward and involuntarily sits down, supported by a sizeable pig pillow on the floor.

She gasps, "…An owl!"

Appearing at first to be all face and feathery white legs, the barn owl's impressive tan and brown speckled wings swivel around into frame, revealing a perfect array of white feathers with black dots underneath.

"Beautiful…" Olive thinks to herself before scuffling to her feet and meeting the owl at the edge of the sill.

As if it were one of her stuffed animals brought to life, the now excited child begins expounding, "I'm Olive. This is my room, and I live with my friends, Mommy and Daddy. I'm…"

The rest of the thought is seemingly placed into her mind as the words, "…five years old." are offered.

Stunned, she exclaims, "How did you know that? Did you say something?"

The owl's eyes squint as a gesture akin to a smile. It then pivots on the ledge and speaks clearly, its melodic voice of the kind that tickles the ear like the tinkle of a wind chime. "I know you. I've known you your whole life, Olive. May I come in?"

"I would, but the window is locked." Olive retorts, surprised that an owl knows her name.

The window is, in fact, locked. Taking Olive's statement as more of a suggestion, the owl lifts its talon-clad foot while balancing steadily on the other and steps effortlessly through the glass pane. The child stands there in her unicorn slippers, puzzled but gleefully amazed. The owl ducks into the room with a calm ruffle of its feathers, leaving the window completely unbothered.

"How did you do that?!" Olive whispers, remembering suddenly that she should be asleep.

With a familiar tenderness, the owl states, "Well, it only works with those who have seen me before."

Olive's eyebrows begin working feverishly, trying to make out what that could mean. She offers up the only conclusion she can reach: "We just moved here, and I have never seen you before."

The owl smiles in its heart and says, "Don't worry, I'll show you." The clever little guest hops down from the windowsill and flutters into a graceful landing on a footstool nearby. It plumbs the entire room, instantly gathering a wealth of knowledge about the young girl. Everything from her much-admired books evidenced by the repeatedly creased spines, to a well-worn pair of sneakers with perfect heel hammocks in the backs of each and muffin crumbs inconspicuously peeking out from under the bed all bring Olive into better focus. In its assessment, the owl hadn't noticed Olive, frozen with wonder, taking it in as well.

The barn owl cleared its throat and announced, "Let's go on a little journey of our own, shall we?"

It leans in towards the little girl, rolling its neck back and forth to focus. Entranced by this, Olive doesn't notice her room's transformation; the fluffy beige rug is now mauve carpet from the 1980s.

Suddenly she whirls around. "Where…where am I? Where's Mommy?"

"Oh… she should be rounding the corner right about…now."

The travelers turn just in time to see a bright-eyed bobbling baby bound around the corner. The baby's diaper is clinging on for dear life, and she's teetering on the edge of one chubby little foot. Behind the baby, we see an enthusiastic and spry older woman pretending to give chase on all fours.

Amused by this, Olive asks, "Why is Mommy so small? Is that her Mommy?"

"Almost…that is your mommy's grandmother. She was so excited to have a granddaughter that she retired from teaching other littles like yourself when your mom was born." the owl reports rather proudly, with her black-stippled chest feathers fluffed.

Eyebrows high, the child's attention is borrowed by a familiar tea set on a table nearby. Aware that the baby is dangerously close to reaching the table leg, which would be used to pull herself up, the grandmother pushes the teacup back from the edge.

"Do you recognize that cup?" The owl cues.

"Hey! That's my cup with the little owls painted on it!"

Charmed by her reaction, the barn owl fills in the blanks. "Your favorite cup was passed down to your mommy and on to you because your great grandmother loved collecting charming little trinkets and valuables with owls painted on them."

Content with the explanation, a smile melts across Olive's face, chasing away the mild outrage she'd felt just a few seconds before. The barn owl carries the convo as she glides, keeping Olive engaged to the degree that the girl scarcely notices the scene change, again. Instead of a baby, she now sees a child of about seven years of age, curled up on the couch reading a book. As if a convincing magic trick had been performed, Olive's eyes open to their peak.

"Mommy's a big kid!" she shrieks.

"Yes, they never stay small for long. Your mommy loved reading everything she could get her hands on, just like you do. Her grandma used to take her to the library for storytime." The child donates a contemplative smile to this scene, and the two move on.

As they make their way down the hall of Olive's mother's childhood home, living vignettes in photo frames whiz by. The first floating frame is a memorial to her high school years; next is a scene of the grandmother at the post office mailing letters and care packages to college. The final frame holds a rather pivotal moment in time; it is Olive's mother returning home with yet another familiar face.

"Daddy!" Olive squeals with sublime delight.

The owl chuckles at the girl's glee, "Yes; this was when your mommy brought your daddy to meet the entire family. I could tell she was nervous but hopeful for our approval." This note skims over the child's head as she focuses on her parents' youthful and stress-free faces.

Upon arriving at the end of the hall, the companions are met by a haze of heaviness. Immediately sensing that something has changed, Olive asks, "What's happening? Why is mommy's belly so big…why is she crying?"

At this, the owl nods and searches for the words in the threadbare carpet.

"This wasn't the best day for your mommy, although it was such a magical time in her life. That's you she's carrying in her belly. Do you remember the story she told you about the grandma setting off on a journey? This was that day, just two weeks before you were born."

At this moment, it feels as though the weight of the world has kissed the child's little cheek, overtaking her with misery.

"What's wrong, child?"

Attempting to piece it all together, she reluctantly responds, "Why didn't she stay so I could see her?"

The owl pivots her head toward Olive and confesses, "Oh sweetheart, she wanted to stay, more than anything, but her body could go no further. She was overjoyed to have her first granddaughter. Imagine how much more would she have loved to see a great-granddaughter! It was time, however, for her to journey into the Great Beyond."

Taking in the scene through tear-soaked eyes, the little girl whispers, "I don't feel good. Mommy is in so much pain. This makes my chest hurt."

With experience borrowed from another time, the owl professes, "This too, shall pass. I know the timing of this was regrettable, but an amazing thing happened. Because your mommy's grandma no longer had to carry around a human body, she was able to fly."

Bemused by this, the little girl asks quizzically, "Like you do?"

A smile. "Yes. Just like me."

With this, the owl's joints begin to creak and pop. Her feathers stretch, tripling in size and rustling against themselves like bushes until the once small creature is nearly six feet tall.

"Ah, that's better…hop on!" the owl cries.

The owl lowers a shoulder allowing the child to climb aboard the large, lofty shoulders. Olive holds on tight as the dismal scene fades away behind them with a single bound, the ground giving way to the sky. The barn owl's extraordinary wings accordion out as they lunge through the clouds, mist hissing passed their faces. Winding throughout the atmosphere, like a current, are countless memories, an endless parade of smiles, tears, frustrations, and elations. The air is glimmering with every pigment of the human condition, bathed in all shades of emotions. As if downloaded into her mind, Olive sees clearly through the owl's eyes and understands everything.

Exhilarated, the child bellows over the sound of the wind rushing passed, "Where is the Great Beyond?"

Hoping she would be inspired to ask, the owl beams, "Hang on, I'll take you there just for a peek."

Higher and higher, the two ascend, swirling into the sky until it brings forth glistening clouds followed by a layer of buzzing static like that which could be felt on clothes fresh out of a dryer.

"I'm scared," Olive admits the odd sensation, to which the barn owl responds, "This too shall pass, if we stay the course."

On they climb until they reach a height where the environment feels full of warm, soft wind that tickles the back of Olive's neck and lingers there. This enveloping air is peppered with hints of all things sweet.

"Ooo wee! I smell cupcakes, cookies…no…pancakes!" The little girl is overjoyed and so preoccupied with sniffing out potential "treats" that she misses the otherworldly threshold that they have swiftly crossed over.

The owl descends into an elegant landing and lowers the child onto the pillowy ground.

"Where are we now?" asks Olive as she cautiously peers around, trying to understand what she is seeing.

"This, sweetheart, is the entrance to the Great Beyond. It is not your time to enter here yet, but I may be able to borrow from its energy to introduce you to someone."

Still taking in the sights and steadying herself, the child reaches out her tiny hand and places it against the owl's sturdy wing. Beneath her hand, the soft brunette and tan mottled feathers begin to hum and tremble. As the fibers churn, they start to fashion themselves together, revealing an arm, like her own, with soft and supple skin. Startled by this, Olive's gaze carefully extends up the arm until she meets a face so familiar, it was as if she'd known it her whole life.

"You? You're the face on my dresser!"

Her amazement is met by the most tender and cheerful eyes. Eyes that seem to possess within them volumes of unspoken adoration. Eyes belonging to her great grandmother, Jean.

"Well, hello," Jean says softly, sensing that the child is already a bit overwhelmed. "I'm so happy I can finally meet you, face to face."

Olive, teary-eyed yet unsure why asks, "You were the owl this whole time? Are you my mommy's grandma? Where did you go in your boat?"

Proud of her for piecing it all together, Jean responds, "Yes, I am—and your great-grandma. Come, I'll show you what happened."

Olive blinks and finds herself in complete darkness. All that can be heard is the sound of seagulls crooning overhead and water lapping against large boulders and wooden posts. She feels a light spray on her face as she rubs the salty water between her fingers and breathes the briny sea air. As Olive opens and focuses her eyes, she realizes that they are at the same pier where she used to go with her daddy to watch the seals sunbathe.

Excited that she finally recognizes a place but confused as to why they are here, the child inquires, "What are we doing here?"

A smile as warm as the morning sun spreads across Jean's face as she recalls, "This is the marina. I used to bring your mommy here when she was about your age to ride our bicycles on the trail. This was her favorite place to be."

She continues to color in the memory as two ships out near the jetty can be seen steadily headed toward each other; one coming, the other going. Jean inserts the analogy to explain where she went.

"You see those two ships over there? When I set sail on my journey, I traveled out quite far. There was no one else in sight. After some time, I saw another boat headed toward me, just like those over there. I stood at the edge of mine and looked out to see if I could make out who was in the other. As the vessel glided up next to mine, all I could see was… you. You were wrapped like a special little package in a soft fuzzy blanket heading toward where I'd just left. You looked up at me with brand new, bright eyes as your ship passed by. I knew it was you, and I felt so blessed to have been the first to meet you on your way in. If I hadn't been traveling, I would not have been well enough in my human form to make it to see you when you'd arrived. I didn't bother you, but I sent you on your way with all my love and protection."

Olive's face wrestles with this, but it finally settles, and she lays her head against Jean's arm. A grassy knoll holds the two as they enjoy the sunset; Olive fills her great-grandma in on the happenings of her dolls and books, and Jean returns the favor with some of her fondest memories.

As the sun begins to set and it is time to go, Olive's elated expression grows dismal—a function of her next question, "How will I find you again?"

Jean gives a reassuring smile and explains, "I was never lost, my dear; I've watched you from afar since before you reached the shore. I know my leaving still makes your mommy sad from time to time, but all things happened as they should have. This—even this sadness too—shall pass. Life is too short for so much sorrow. Joy will come in the morning, you'll see. I love you." With this, Jean takes in the sight of the little girl once more, as if to etch her smiling face into her memory. She leans forward and kisses Olive's forehead as the girl fades away.

The carefree coo of mourning doves, the sound of two squirrels bickering on a nearby branch, and a school bus squeaking to a stop all dance in Olive's ears before her eyes acknowledge that she is awake. Realizing it is morning, the child leaps out of bed, slippers still attached, and races down the stairs. With one hand hooked around the bottom rail post, she rounds the corner and propels herself into the kitchen. There, sitting at the table enjoying the same sounds of the neighborhood, but with a cup of coffee, is her mother.

"Good morning lil' Muffin, how'd you sleep?" her mother nearly sings, as she has brewed an exceptionally robust cup of coffee.

Olive bursts forth with eyes as big as saucers, "I went on a journey last night! There was a barn owl, and pancake smells, and I flew, then we laughed, and I flew some more, and I saw a baby and the teacup…."

She goes on to recount the adventure with remarkable detail, all of which sounds to her mother like another classic childlike story; the ones you follow along with, out of love, while forsaking reason.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful, Lovebug!" her mother gleams before returning to a more relaxed state of calm, albeit a bit melancholy.

Noticing this, Olive asks, "What's wrong, Mommy?"

"Oh. Nothing, hun, just another day figuring it all out. Some days are a little rougher than others, that's all. Mommy's okay."

Exuding a lifeforce that feels way beyond her years, Olive pulls her mother in for a hug and speaks softly, "This too shall pass." With this, the child looks into her eyes with a smile bearing the weight of all her love. Taken aback, her mother sits silently for a moment.

The mother then searches her daughter's face for understanding. Finally, with tears welling up in her eyes, she asks, "Who…where did you hear that?"

"Hear what, Mommy? May I have some pancakes?" The girl responds with a furrowed brow.

The two exchange another glance before the mother continues. She is still visibly shaken by the phrase. "Sure…Go on and play, and I'll let you know when they're ready."

"Okay!" Olive exclaims, completely unmoved and seemingly oblivious to the previous conversation.

The mother sits back in her chair. She summons all her parental detective skills to no avail, before relenting to a big smile that fights its way onto her face.With a sigh, she picks up her mug and takes a sip. Her eyes linger in the cup before looking over at the kitchen window just in time to see what appears to be a barn owl tucking into the hollow of a tree nearby—before completely vanishing into the dark crevice. The mother's eyes calmly survey the room as she processes the events that have just transpired. In that moment, she experiences a feeling that she feared had been lost forever. Complete joy.