Perspective

Icy pellets of rain pelt the frozen barren ground, twinkling from the setting twilight as each drop travels downward. A lone barn owl perches high on a windowpane that lost its glass decades ago. The white round face eerily floats in front of a black background, always watching…always seeing. No longer a home to livestock, the rust-colored barn leans slightly northward as if shouldering itself against a mighty winter wind. While once majestic, this aged farm structure has become home to field mice, stray cats, and the occasional coyote in search of nourishment. Snuggled in a straw nest, a momma cat nurses days-old six kittens, eyes still sealed shut from birth. Its contented purring does not impress the owl; bored with the family bonding moment, it turns its face once again to the horizon.

Looking outward from this advantage point, the land stretches for miles; not a tree, hill, or home obstructs the view until the ground simply blends into sky. Rawness radiates from the cold, wet earth. To the west, wilted milo stalks litters one field, while to the east sits a neglected pasture overgrown with weeds and prairie dog mounds. Remnants of dried dung are the remaining proof that at one time cattle fed upon this grassy area. A patch of sand plum trees provides bleak storm protection and even less summertime fruit. The corral directly in front the barn is lined with empty concrete feed bunks. Its gate squawks noisily in the breeze, announcing to no one of its need for oil.

A gravel road with deep ruts created by heavy machinery winds its way awkwardly to a small gray house. At the corner of the driveway, a bright red “For Rent” sign stands in stark contrast to the growing shadows of dusk. Wild thorny rose bushes push out from cracks of a crumbling sidewalk that connects the road to the home’s front door. Brightness competes with dimness, as light tumbles from one of the home’s windows. A woman haloed by warmth, stares through its glassy protection into to the world beyond. Streaks of moisture slide down both the window and face. An empty medicine vial sits on the sill, its yellow lid nearby. The strains of a sitcom’s jingle float through the darkening sky.

The orange rim enters its final descent; blackness aids the owl’s impressive night vision. In a powerful thrust, the creature leaps into motion, spanning out its wings in a glorious stretch. A soft single brown striped feather spirals in its place - twirling for fun, spinning for survival. Down the feather floats until it rests on a rotting red board, torn from the barn’s side. Soaring effortlessly, the large, rounded wings help the bird glide strategically toward unsuspecting prey. Movement catches the owl’s attention. A brown field mouse darts from one grass clump to another, sniffing for food bits to sneak away to its winter burrow for safe keeping. Patiently, the owl hovers high above like a helicopter, waiting for the opportune time to strike. In one swift dive, the carnivore captures the rodent in its black sharp talons, twittering in anticipating for its long-awaited supper.

The owl floats with its well-earned prize, moonlight shimmering on its wet banded feathers as the rain begins to subside. Gliding over the yard back to the barn’s shelter, the expansive wings create a shadow outlining the journey. Stillness envelops the farm; smells of wet soil and old manure waft upward revealing the promise of spring. Along this path, tender spikes of tulip leaves peak out from the sandy earth. Deep from within the home, someone laughs.