Owl’s Plight
A Short Story of Inner Awakening
The owl knew he would rise that night. He tipped off the edge of the rocky cliff face, plunging into darkness against the soft swoosh of air, momentarily solid as it rushed up into his wings. The owl had this very knowing only once before, on a night just like this one, where the moon cast an aura glow around every object it touched. Magical, reactive energy could be found dancing back onto the eyes of the beholder on nights like these, while their own internal tides grew restless and waning.
Soaring down toward the dark refuge of the pine forest, the owl felt this sensation coursing up through his chest, beating in rhythm with the blood being pushed through his veins. He cruised tight to the craggy edges of the rocks, dodging the resistance of the wind in a bumpy free-fall. Just as he touched the darkness that seemed to be seeping from beneath the trees, the feeling bubbled up to a peak in his breast. Gazing into the thick blackness, the owl felt the floor of his inner poise fall out from beneath him. It was like the trapdoor of his gut that held the heart in place fell open, and its contents emptied into an unplaceable abyss. More deftly than a hawk on its best day, he pulled up hard, catching the branch in front of him with both sets of talons, whipping himself once round a full 360 degrees before stopping in stoic perch. Still maintaining his grace, despite the devouring emptiness within him. “Whoooo…aaahh, whoooo…aaahh”, out and in, focusing on his exhale in hopes it might quell this feeling inside. This feeling, that was quickly bleeding out into the lustrous world around him. Kind, gentle shimmers where the moon light cut through the trees began to morph black, with sharp points and edges. The void mocked him, growing ever deeper. Shaking and trembling, the owl slumped back against the trunk of the tree, the branch holding beneath him. “Why me?” he thought.
Owl was a barn owl. Deceivingly cute, with a moon face made out of soft white tufts. Tufts between which rested the two most precious jewels the forest had ever imagined. Deep, glassy eyes held the power to make a sunny day out of the darkest winter nights. These eyes wielded the power of reflection and refraction. Resounding and redirecting photons in an ecstatic dance, played enough times over that they might make out what images came in so faintly. His ability to perceive the world around him with sight was second only to his ability to listen. What made Owl and his kin different, was the ability to perceive in complete and total darkness. You see, it takes a sliver of light — only the smallest sliver mind you, for Owl to work his magical eyes. But his ears, his ability to tune in to a different expression of frequency, worked just as well in the depths of the abyss as in the light of the sky. If there was any flaw in Owl’s perceptual ability, it was when the two senses didn’t, or couldn’t work in harmony for one reason or another. During the day, it was fairly easy for both senses to work together fluidly. It was more often that his sight would interrupt his hearing when navigating in near total darkness. However, on particularly blustery days when it wasn’t so clear for his ears, his laser vision was able to pick up the slack, painting clear practical pictures to guide his actions.
A cracking sound from beneath the pine canopy suddenly snapped him to attention. Tiny feet scampered across some particularly talkative leaves. It was as if the sound waves from the forest floor coursed through Owl’s entire body, snapping him in tune to the invisible frequencies in the air. First, they came in through his ear, then spread to the brain, out to the tip of every nerve and through every muscle fiber. His body snapped to, like a soldier caught dozing. The tufts of his ears flicked left. Then his eyes, then his head. His chest followed, up from its slump against the tree with such a force that it lifted all of him, right down to his tail up off the branch. His talons alighted exactly 180 degrees from the place they first found refuge. Owl’s sharp eyes cut through the night, glimmering faintly with the promise of prey. He paused for a moment. Wondering at the image of himself as a predator. At first dispassionately, and then… he couldn’t help but feel repulsed.
Owl, as far as animals go was a moralist. A thinker. One who could craft great big ideas that were nearly airtight. He took his beautiful conceptions and creations, clearly and skillfully painted on canvases of his mind, and he built a walled garden out of them. What he intended to be a garden anyway. But the soil was far too porous and rocky to hold water, and as a result, there was no life. His philosophically sound and impeccably rational perspectives had become rigid, and arid ground. He built his walls so high, he could no longer see outside, and what was intended to be an ode to life, became his blinding prison. So Owl first blamed the ground, unable to see himself in it. He tried to give it water. He fed it food and seed. But no life seemed to grow. In his self-imposed ignorance, Owl was left barren, unable to perceive the biggest picture of all.
“What kind of wise, thoughtful and elegantly poised creature would ever commit such acts of atrocity just in order to live?” There were times in his life when he could relish the chase of prey, and the sweet prize of his talons cutting through flesh. But now, those times just disgusted Owl all the more. He couldn’t understand what was different then. What was different about him and his relationship to the world? Suddenly, a set of ears popped up from behind a pile of fallen pine boughs, and out hopped an orange body followed by a big swooshy tail. In the time it took owl to locate the source of the sound and have his bout of self-interrogation, he witnessed an entire hunt unfold. One fox sprang the mice from their hiding hole, while the other lay in wait. There were one or two mice that ended up escaping that could have addressed the rumbling in Owl’s belly, but addled by his mind’s self-reflection and refraction, Owl’s ability to play his role in nature was disrupted. This wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence for him. In fact the local ecosystem was beginning to show it. But these thoughts were far too much for Owl right now. The rapid replaying images of failure rattled through his head, and not knowing what else to do, he spread his wings to fly.
Owl dropped down from the trees, catching a small scoop of air by turning his wings up and leveled out to glide just above the ground. Racing past fallen branches and nosy roots, the smooth caress of wind was beginning to soothe his mind. A flick and a tilt to the left, and Owl cut almost a perfect 90-degree angle right before he would have exited the tree line. A few moments later, Owl banked again to his left, this time with a slight tilt upward, and sailed between a set of sturdy trees. Now amongst the branches, Owl had to rely on his hearing and began to tune out his sight to better feel the sound. Zip, zip, zipping impossibly fast, Owl could have singed the branches as he passed by in a blaze of masterful flight. Despite focusing on his hearing, he couldn’t help but notice the faint glow pine needles began to take on as he whizzed past. He lingered just a moment too long in observance, and nearly clipped himself with a branch that was sticking out further than it should have been. Centering himself and resigning to the sound, Owl hit a final 90-degree turn and zipped up past the tangle of branches, soaring out amongst the tops of the trees. But he didn’t stop there. Up, up and up he ascended, catching a warm pillar of air that thrust him further into the reach of the sky. Finally, just when Owl could flap no more and the gust of wind ran out, he levelled off to an effortless glide and soared straight into the light of the full Hunter’s Moon.
The glow off the landscape was tantalizingly bright, and Owl was seeing and feeling in a beautiful synesthesia of sight and sound. Too enthralled to notice the sensation had returned, Owl basked in wonder of the world around him. What had seemed so dark and menacing, was passionately light. It was not every night that he could sense like this. In fact it was only once before many years ago, in the light of a Harvest Moon. He had forgotten about that time. It was so distant it could have been another lifetime ago. It was another lifetime ago, shrouded in the folds of time. His stomach rumbled. In any other moment, he might have groaned. But now, he chuckled. “The gaping hole can’t be filled with reflections” he thought. Owl sighed as he began his descent. But his sense of wonder didn’t subside. The needles of the pines began to come back into view, and Owl sank further into his senses. As his stomach rumbled again wistfully, he thought, “Maybe I’ll go with fish.”
…
My first foray into fiction, prompted by a writing challenge on Vocal Media (with the grand prize at $20,000. If you’re unaware, this website is a wonderful way for writers to share, interact and earn money just like on medium. They don’t own your content and have a feature for readers to tip you directly. How Do I Get Paid? | Vocal
Thanks for reading!
Michael R. Muscatello
© 2022
