Spirit of the Owl

Staring into cloudy abyss of night sky, my heart starts to flutter. I remember at once all of those sticky summer nights we spent side by side, looking far into the endless sea of black. You, in your white, light sundress, distract my eyes away from even the stars. Your eyes would outshine any number of those burning suns in this galaxy or the next.

But the stars are now draped behind the thick curtain of clouds. The hot summer nights are now masked by the burning cold of winter. The grass beside me is now empty, and my heart aches for you.

I sit in the still silence of this dead, winter meadow for longer than what is healthy. I cannot bring myself to leave the place you once danced around. The place where you moved with carefree ease. The place where you spun and laughed for my eyes alone.

You reminded me of an angel even then.

I long for the touch of your graceful hands. The ones that would guide me through the night. I long to hear the excitement in your voice, the adrenaline in your laugh as we would race through the waist tall grass.

I long for you.

I stand in my sorrow for what feels like an eternity. The glade where I used to look forward to bringing you each evening now feels like a desolate void in my heart. A steady stream of tears sodden my cheeks as I turn to leave my sorrows to rest.

The water is warm on my frozen face.

Just as I make to leave the bitter night behind me, a break in the clouds catches my eye. The clouds part in a frantic wave as though they were the red sea splitting in two. I watch the phenomenon with mouth agape as the clouds sprint at a godly pace. They leave a wide breaching circle in the night sky, casting my little valley in a ghastly, ghoulish light.

Right in the center of this unnatural sight sits a full silver moon, shining its divine glory down unto me. Its light reminds me once again of the glimmer in your eyes, and I fall to my knees, head in hands, utterly defeated. Why does everything remind me of the hole you left aching in my chest?

From far above in the heavens, I hear a devilish screech. A white, howling ball dives toward the earth in a manic frenzy. My mouth falls in awe for the fallen angel. Somehow the entity pulls out of its drastic dive to land only a foot in front of me. As it lands, I catch a glimpse of outstretched claws digging for a grip in the crumbling dirt. The bright, white feathers encasing the being make almost no sound, save the soft whoosh of their closing. I am left staring into two giant, gray eyes. They peer back at me with what I can only imagine is the most villainous of intents.

An owl.

I tilt my head to the side in confusion. The owl does the same. Intrigued, I lift one of my arms above my head. The owl does the same. My thoughts from before are temporarily broken as I laugh out loud at the ridiculous sight of the shameless bird. This is the first time I have laughed in a while, and I am immediately overwhelmed with guilt. To be laughing in our spot without you beside me feels like a sin. The owl, caught in my amusement, lets out what I can only imagine is a laugh of its own.

I am filled with anger by the noise it lets out. How dare it laugh in your place? I reach out to shut up the devilish, little mimic with the most ill of intentions, but the owl sees right through me and jumps onto my chest before my hand can encase its throat. My head hits the ground hard as I go down. All the air is knocked out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath. It takes several long moments before I no longer feel disoriented. I sit up, my head slightly dizzy, and my eyes start searching your sacred valley for the wretched creature.

I find it flying low around the edge of the plain. I stand (a little too fast) and start running after it. Each time my foot pounds the ground below me, I feel my anger grow. How dare that bird tarnish what should remain untainted. This is your spot. This is your valley. This is all I have to remember you.

The owl is taunting me, toying with me. I will almost reach its tail feathers, and it will pull ahead. Only for it to slow down and feign tiredness over and over again. It thinks this to be a game. The thought only makes me hate it more.

Everywhere the owl flies, long enchanted grass reaches new highs. Everywhere it grazes the ground, white moonflower vines spread in mounds. Everywhere it tends to go, warmth seeps into the winter valley that I used to know. Everywhere it glides through the crisp winter air, the sweet scent of your perfume pricks up my hair.

Finally, with a great burst of rage, I manage to grab the tail feathers of the beast. I expect the owl to fall to the ground, or at the very least, the tail feathers should be ripped from its flesh, but neither happens. Instead, we gain speed, and soon my feet no longer can reach mother earth as we soar higher and higher into that deep night sky.

The sting of the elevated air makes me gasp. My legs swing wildly below me, and it becomes harder and harder to stay afloat. I grasp onto my pitiful handful of feathers for fear of meeting the ground again, all but too soon. The feathers slipped further and further out of my hand, inch by inch.

Then I fell.

I fell long enough to think all the thoughts that I didn’t have time to think before. Why was I so angry at this owl? Was it the one my anger was meant for? I fell down, plummeting away from the moon towards the earth’s cold embrace. Yet as I fell, panic never set in. Instead of panic, I felt a sense of relief. Even as I inevitably fell to my death, my last thoughts were only of seeing your face. Calm flooded my senses. Catching the owl didn’t make me any less angry. Catching the owl didn’t bring you back. I fall to earth hoping to meet you in the next life or the one after. Anything. Anything to see your face. At any moment now. At any time.

But that moment never came. I suddenly realized that I was no longer falling. I hadn’t been falling for some time. I lay on my back, breathing deeply as I fly through the pitch-black sky. Under me lies a bed of the softest white down a man could imagine. I soar upon the wings of an angel herself.

And just as you so often would call to me over your shoulder, the owl calls back to me to make sure that I enjoy its gift of flight.

But the moments we best enjoy in life are fleeting, and down soon, the owl does soar. Dawn approaches to end our dancing night affair. My savior sets me down before the glow of the silver moon can disappear once again. I do not have the words to thank the owl, and at that, I am not convinced it would understand. It flies away with the cloudy doors of heaven closing behind it. I leave your meadow with a clearer understanding and no more tears to weep. It hurts to say goodbye to you again, my darling.