The Owl Who Saw Color

Next to my hunting corner, there is a mark, "2222" on the wall behind me. My brother loves to say it is because "you have two ears, two legs, two wings, and two more chances of catching a mouse" he then rolls with laughter and pretends to fall off his perch. I know that the last "2" is because I have two eyes and that I can see in rainbows, but I have never told him that. I love seeing in rainbows, it is better than catching mice.

I strain my legs into my usual knocked-kneed position, clench my claws tightly onto my wooden perch in the corner of the barn, "out the way", as mum always says. I screw up my face into my most believable "I'm serious about this" expression and then wait. If the charade works, and it always does, then my whole family will believe that I am hunting mice. I do not know how it got to be this way, this pose, this pretense, this song and dance. I just know that it is the same every night.

Each day is a kaleidoscopic miracle, with colors and shapes dancing across my vision. At night when I am on duty and "I must be vigilant to catch dinner", I get swept away by the sheer magnitude and dazzling beauty of the world. However, everyone knows that owls are color blind. Everyone, except me.

As night falls, I watch iridescent lights dance in the nooks and crannies of our barn. Subtle glints of rainbow hue cover the fresh-cut hay bales, outline the gnarled wood grain of the oak beams, and slither like snakes in the moonlight. I move my head as I have been taught, which makes it look as though I have my prey in sight, only to gaze in wonder at the kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, and pinks that now scatter like stained glass patterns on the beamed ceiling of the barn. Another flash of light radiates through a jagged crack in the wood floor below. I turn, energized by an internal drive to track blue-green rays as they flicker like laser beams through the hay. Entranced by the array of neon lights emanating from a small creature below, I hold my breath expectantly. A mouse cowers silently, my "prey", my "victim", my luminous friend. Each tiny movement reverberates in color, first in blue-green, then in purple, and finally in dark yellow ripples that flutter across the dirt ground. The golden hue leaches under the rusty fork discarded in the corner of the barn and on into the night, bringing an unexpected glow to the cold damp gloom.

I do not know when I first realized that I was different, maybe it was when I was six or seven weeks old. In the daytime, I would stare up at the wooden plank that sheltered our warm straw nest. Precious lilac and blue drops of light would swirl and merge above me, finding their way sweetly, mingling and blending, until they faded into a cloud of purple, dissipating slowly as they claimed the air for themselves. There were no conversations for "who could see what" amongst my brothers and sisters. Life with them was just black and white. There were important lessons to learn; how to stand still on a perch; how to listen keenly to subtle sounds on the barn floor; and how to swoop silently. The fact that no one mentioned the colors of our prey was always confusing. It was very clear to me: mice give a blue-green; then purple; and eventually golden-yellow light that ripples from them like nervous smoke rings. Rabbits obviously have a red-orange pulse, like the glow of sunrise. I love voles the best, they give off an unexpected indigo light, which moves in soft spirals dancing aimlessly around them.

I did not want to rock the boat when I was young. Life had principles to follow, rules and regulations, "shoulds", "shouldn'ts", "musts", and “mustn’ts.” There was never room for random "what ifs?", so any conversation about seeing color was out of the question. I always wondered whether there would be an opportunity to shed light on my nature-given gift, but the topic never arose, until one day…

It had been raining and I clearly remember that my usually radiant colors had appeared muted and gray. I questioned if I was coming down with the flu or if I had eaten something funny the night before. I had flown up to my perch as usual and was busying myself, following my nightly routine, when I saw an unexpected flash of white light and an electric blue haze that hovered just out of view outside the barn window. The blue now turned turquoise-green with tendrils of light that invaded the safety of the barn. The appearance of this mysterious color made my feathers ruffle, and I was ready to give out an uncharacteristic screech. Mum had always said that I had the quietest snore when I was little at dinner time, snoring was how we asked for food. What I saw distressed me, yet the years of my mum's training in silent observation made me stay quiet. I held my breath and listened.

The next few seconds were a bit of a blur. Purple tones became agitated and confusing, like an eerie sky signaling a storm. I could not hold it any longer. I mustered my loudest screech, sounding the alarm with power and certainty. The whole barn suddenly lit up with a sickly orange and green glow. A buzzing erupted and the air shook violently. We had practiced escape routes in case of trouble. My whole family darted to safety. In a flap of a wing, we were all huddled together on the thickest branch of the oak tree on the farm as fire engulfed the barn door. Another second and we would have been trapped inside.

None of my siblings or my parents had caught the imminent danger. There was no obvious source, no smoke, and none of the usual pointers to expect a fire. How did I know to sound the alarm when I did? They had heard nothing unusual prior to my screech. As my bewildered family took in their lucky escape, their eyes now fell upon me. Bursting to share my secret, the truth of my magnificent gift all came spilling out.

Since The Great Barn Fire, life looks a lot different these days. Dad quickly found an old shed nearby and the locals welcomed us in with open wings, horrified by what we had just been through. My family has a new level of respect and awe for me, and my brother scratched "2222" into one of the wooden beams in the shed. He even proudly calls me "Rainbow Vision" to our new friends.

The other day, my mum asked me to describe the colors of all the animals in the barn, starting with the voles. I love sharing the world I see with her. She says that soon it will be my time to find a partner and settle down in my own barn. I look forward to teaching my children about the technicolor world that I see and will encourage them to express their own unique and colorful gifts.