The Owl and the Druid Myth

A barn owl is a ghost, a spirit, a soul within a wingspan. They are harbingers of the spirit world, and carry myth and magic with them in almost every culture. A barn owl is exactly what she wished she could be. Free, and wild, with a heart shaped face. Eyes that could track their prey across the night, the same as they could find their lover in flight. Being human was overrated.

Spending time on her Aunt and Uncle's ranch had changed her, in some ways she couldn't understand, and some she could. The tales of the druids out here were certainly wild and dark. She wanted to believe them. But turning 24 that spring, all she really knew was that she wished she was free. Druids and nymphs were made up stories to help people forget how terrible the real world had become. This life didn't seem so full of freedom, like we were told we should believe. Sitting around the fire with her Uncle late at night, full of whiskey, the tales he would spin were too wild to believe, yet she still filled his cup when he shook it at her for more drink. Keep talking Uncle, she seemed to say as she poured the amber liquid into his mug. Tell me more about the druids, her eyes would plead. Her favourite myth was the one about the Owls.

She was sitting under the oldest tree on the ranch, it marked the boundary of the ranch's southernmost corner. This was where the owls had made their nest, and she kicked at the pellets in the loose dry dirt. "Forbidden baked potatoes" she mumbled, as she broke one open with her sneaker. Tiny jaw bones, itty, bitty skulls, and miniature femurs tumbled down the slope away from her.

After taking them home, she would wrap them in tinfoil, making them appear as though some forest woodland druid might be popping them in the oven for a fine dinner of potatoes. She was collecting them, to sell them online. And sell they would, she had a pre order list a half mile long already. Everything is commodified these days, make money on anything you can, she thought. People will buy the strangest things, and her bills were past due. Not even a trip to the country would make a person forget the pressure of daily life and the bills that accrued. Capitalism had replaced things like druids and magic.

Standing quickly, she scooped up her shoulder bag with its precious cargo and slung it over her shoulder. Turning to lean on the trunk of the old tree, she caught her breath like she was suddenly choking on her supper. Seeming to hold its breath, frozen in time, the owl was so very large this close to her face. It must have been the size of an eagle, and it's curved hook of a beak was inches from her nose. It hooted at her, softly, but the close proximity of its call was like a subsonic boom in her ears. It was all she could hear, and it echoed through her head like crying in a canyon.

Would it tear her eyes out? What did it want? She'd never been this close to any wild creature, and her heart was beating so hard the owl's eyes glanced to her chest, the fabric of her shirt vibrating with the pounding rhythm. She released her gasped breath slowly, the warm air ruffling the edges of the barn owl's heart shaped face. It stared at her, through her, into her. Time seemed to stop, like in stories and in movies, it was frozen. Only her, the owl, and the tree, remained. Reflections of light in their eyes, deep and endless and mirrored.

Suddenly the owl shook itself, like tossing a shawl off its shoulders, it looked admittedly feminine in that moment. Their eyes still locked, it looked like it wanted to speak, but no words would come. What could she say to an owl anyways, what would it ask her?

It leaned to one side, and lifted curled talons off the branch. One foot in the air, eyes still locked on hers. The foot turned over, like a closed fist with the palm up. Slowly, slowly, the talons unfurled. A spread hand, seeking an answer. It was asking for its ancient clawed foot to be filled; she had no idea what this owl wanted from her, but very clearly, it wanted something. She started to reach for it, her free hand tentatively moving towards the sharp talons. Unthinking, slipping her fingers in between the claws, they were 'holding hands' like lovers do. She stared at the talons, as they closed over her hand, the tips of them pressing into her flesh, almost piercing the skin but not, so gentle and so fierce.

Looking down, the shoulder bag lay on the ground. She didn't recall dropping it, how strange, she thought. The forest floor seemed farther away, but that didn't make sense either. She looked back to the owl's face, and in the reflection of its deep cavernous eyes, she saw another owl behind her. She turned her head quickly, and saw no one. Looking up at the tree top, the branches seemed to open up, spreading wide, allowing the light of the setting sun to pour in.

She looked back at the owl's talons, and realised her hand wasn't there. Another grip of talons was, and the feathered foot had appeared out of nowhere. Staring at it, she gasped again, but the sound that came out of her was more like a hoot. Looking into the heart shaped face of the giant barn owl, this time she understood what the reflection in its eyes actually meant. She had become an owl. How was this possible? Was this the question it had wanted to ask her? Was this the myth come to life? Why didn't she have a say in the matter? Or maybe she had, the owl had read her thoughts; it had just known.

The world of humans these days is no friendly place, nothing safe remains and all that was cherished was lost. Only money remained, capitalism prevailed. If there was purity left, it was to be free as a bird. It was what she dreamed of while she slept, what she drew in her journal during class, what she talked of at her job. Mountains of debt and stress were suddenly replaced by mountains of rock and ice, and she could imagine nothing better.

The owl released her claws, and nudged her with its body. Wings, she realised, I have wings! She shook them out, spread them gingerly, and the large owl before her seemed to nod. It lofted into the air, dipping between tree limbs and climbing the updraft into the sky. She peered out across the fields, back at the ranch house. Would they miss her? Would they even notice she was gone? She gave her new wings a hard flap, they made no sound at all. Oh lord, she thought to herself, will I like eating rodents?

Moving her new small feathered body like it had been hers for a lifetime already, she rose past the branches and came to a gentle glide beside her new friend. It careened wildly to one side, playing on the airstream. This was now her life, her dreams and prayers were answered.

Oh, to be an owl.

Oh, to forget what it meant to be human, to live in the world of druids and magic.