Peculiar of the Familiar

Silence.

Akaya gingerly pinched the heavy blue velvet drapes and made a space just big enough for her right eye to peer out into the darkness. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate the quiet, but this was stifling. It was to her ears the same suffocating sensation her lungs felt on hot, humid nights.

She scanned the front yard slowly with her big, brown eye. Her long lashes brushed against the thick pile of the curtain, making a slight swooshing sound with each blink. It sounded like a cacophony in contrast with the stillness outside. Noticing the sound, she stopped blinking and held her breath for good measure.

The spacious yard lay empty with only faint wisps of fog undulating in the moonlight. Beyond her fence line, the woods were dark and ominous. “But all woods at night are dark and ominous,” she reasoned to herself. She scrunched up her nose and sighed, letting go of the curtain. Making her way back across the living room, warmly lit by the stone fireplace set snuggly in one corner, she determined that a good cup of tea was just the answer. After all, everything makes more sense with a steaming mug in one’s hand. But somehow, each clink of the crockery and the whistle of the teapot seemed to magnify the silence just beyond her walls.

At the same time that Akaya was not relishing the silence outside the comfort of her home, the little barn owl, who just happened to live in a massive oak tree a proper ten feet inside the forest, turned her little heart-shaped face completely upside down. For she, too, noticed the deafening silence outside of her little home. Even her brood, usually a noisy lot begging for more and more food, nestled up in a curious fashion. Their little eyes batted in an evenly metered sequence with obvious trepidation.

Mother Owl righted her head and blinked exactly three times. She was engineered to hear everything, so this was very peculiar. One might even say that it was disconcerting. Gingerly stepping out of the dark hole high up in the trunk of the old oak, she perched herself on the edge of the hollow, making sure that she was still tucked within its shadows.

Just as she settled in, a flash of bright yellow light caught her attention, and she spun her head directly over her left shoulder towards the farmhouse. The heavy dark wood front door stood ajar with a sunny, warm light streaming out of it. Mother Owl had never seen this before, and she was momentarily confused, as the sun usually rose from behind the hill on the other side of the tree. Besides, it surely was too soon for the day to come, as she had yet to leave for her nightly hunt. After turning her head in every angle that her flexible neck allowed, she finally settled.

It was still dark, and more so, it was still silent.

It was still silent outside of Akaya’s house, that is. Hearing the door creak as it swung open, Akaya whipped around from the kitchen counter. It was followed by a sound much like heavy boots reverberating through the dining room, which sat between her and the entry hall. Whoever it was did not make any attempt at stealth. She pursed her lips and tilted her head in contemplation, although hers was a more subtle arch than that of the owl. Despite the gnawing angst that had been building through the evening, it did not dawn on Akaya to panic. She quickly rushed towards the sound, targeting the wide doorway that separated the kitchen from the dining room. Yes, she was running towards the sound! She was running because now she knew why there had been that terrible silence.

By the time she reached the dining room, the heavy rumble had progressed to the sound of a passing train, the floors heaving under her feet, as the earthquake rolled into full force. She was ever grateful that she lived in such a staid and reliable house. The two-foot thick walls had weathered many events, and she felt secure, nestled in under the carved wood of the arched passageway.

Back in the forest, Mother Owl also was thankful for her safe and stable home in the ancient tree whose roots ran deep into the earth. All the same, she issued a hiss, as if to tell Mother Nature that she was not to be trifled with. Then she quickly ducked back into her nest, burying her babies under her softly feathered chest, while stretching her wings out to insure that every inch of the nest was covered.

The rolling and rumbling ceased as quickly as it began. Akaya stood very still for a moment to be certain that it truly was over and then peeked around the corner of the wall to assess the damages in the kitchen, where a number of dishes had danced out of shelving and had met their fate on the blue mosaic tile floor. Her little mug of tea, however, still sat reliably on the kitchen counter, its inviting steam rising as if nothing had happened.

She made her way to the other side of the dining room and through the entry hall to close the front door, noting to herself to be sure she actually turned the locks this time. As she peered outside before drawing the door shut, she noticed the sound of crickets singing and frogs croaking; and she was pretty sure that she could faintly see a set of tiny yellow eyes steadily blinking way up in a tree just beyond the forest’s edge.

“Hello, Mother Owl,” she called out. “I’m glad that you’re okay.”

Mother Owl turned her head upside down once again, as she had never seen the sun girl before, keeping a much different schedule than the human. Still, she righted her head and screeched back in return for despite the curious nature of this being, somehow she felt that the girl was a good creature, and this was simply the neighborly thing to do. With that, she took flight and was off for her nightly hunt. Akaya smiled and pushed the door shut, attentively turning each lock before returning to her kitchen where she picked up her tea mug. The broken dishes could wait.