Nocturne

There was a gentle breeze as Night the Owl glided along the tree line. The hunting this evening was lacking despite the budding spring energy that had reverberated throughout the forest earlier in the day. That wasn't likely Night's issue. It seemed that the contentedness of his solitude was beginning to take a toll on him, not that he was yet aware of that fact. Swooping low, Night finds his favorite fencepost to rest upon.

The winter had felt particularly long and particularly cold. At times, Night remembered the chill he had felt run through his wingspan when he took flight. This fencepost proved to be a trusted companion in the chill of winter; helping him hunt without having to overexert himself.

As Night kept a keen eye out for prey he heard a sound. The sound was not necessarily beautiful, but there was a desperate tenderness in his heart that was responding to it so strongly. As if without a will of his own, he took flight and headed towards the emotive sound in haste. He was led to a large tree hollow and approached cautiously. Unknown anxiety overwhelmed his senses and he took in the view. It was a female. An impossibly beautiful female.

She approached with confidence, moving forward abruptly, and clasped his beak with her own. Night wasn't used to this sort of interaction, so he took flight soon after their first meeting. Night was inexperienced and comfortable with the seclusion of his own volition. In solitude, Night felt he was incredibly wise, but this interaction had made him feel as stupid as the mice he devoured. However, he made up his mind that this would not be their last meeting.

As dusk approached he found himself once again proceeding toward the female. This time he approached with a gift. It wasn't much, and it did not even come close to encapsulating her beauty, but nonetheless, he offered it. As she accepted and consumed his gift, he watched her closely. Now that he has seen her, how could he possibly not return? She had set the darkness that Night used as a protection alight with wildness.

Night approached for the third time when the sun was still out with a second offering. Just as the night before, she accepted, and responded with a clasp of the beak. With his own response, Night began to comb her feathers with his own beak as a means of affection. Night knew that if he were to return to solitude and never see her again it would no longer be peace; it would be loneliness. That same evening Night learned what he was to call her: Nocturne. This made perfect sense to Night because as each wing glided across the evening sky, she evoked the night itself. He continued to meet her and vowed never to stop. She vowed the same.

Each night he would approach her as if by ritual. Each night she would accept him as if by ritual. At some point, they started to take to the skies together. They would fly near the farm that Night so lovingly called his home. When Nocturne flew, it was as if she was the wind itself. Each flap of her wings supplying the life source of the greenery beneath her. Night had never felt a connection with the wildflowers that bloomed in the fields that he flew over so often, but as he watched Nocturne glide above them, the afterglow she left in her trail added an eternal shimmer to the familiar landscape.

As the springtime continued to flourish so did Night and Nocturne. The nest that they settled in together would stay lush with their twitters and would provide shelter for many owlets to come. It was a home.

Night had been a part of a half his whole life and he hadn't been aware of it.

Now he would never forget it.