We have an owl in our neighborhood. Under the softest light of the glowing moon, he sits atop our tall ancient oak trees. "Who? Who?" he beckons in the darkest hours of our long dark nights.
.Each of us has tales of running out of the house screaming, "I hear him! Do you see him? Where the @#*k is he? Where the @#*k is he?"
.One of us ultimately had this story: "Finally! Do you remember the year that is snowed on Christmas Eve? That year. I heard him. I ran out of the house, into the snow. I heard him. I looked and I looked. It was freezing cold and very slippery out on the hill. I thought, 'I'm going to die. I will kill myself looking for this thing.' But, you know about the owl . How everyone really really wants to see him, and no one ever does..." I said, "Yes. Everyone wants to see him and no one ever does."
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One swears that one imagines him. That's why everyone talks about him.
.My neighbor across my heavily wooded street which is little more than a trail continued his tale, "That's why this was like a gift from god. I wished and I wished. I looked and I looked. I said, please god let me see the damn owl. I really want to see this thing. Poof! It was like magic. Here it is, Christmas eve, and there he was."
.Personally, I can still only imagine what our owl looks like. But, I imagine, surely he must look like this:
