The Cries Of A Barn Owl

He looked as smoke swirled upward from the sparkling tip of his cigarette, wandering against the outline of tall chestnuts that lined the rear of his nursery. He filled his lungs with the rich, weighty warmth of tobacco and breathed out an enormous cloud, gobbling up the spiraling streams as they moved toward the night sky.

It was cold out. Ice had effectively asserted the decking underneath his feet, and the dark felt-coating of the shed rooftop sparkled in the obscurity of night. Thick, snared, branches gleamed white against the totality of the moon, and someplace, covered in the shadows, the indisputable call of a barn owl reverberated out from past the timberline.

The sound generally put him on edge. Frightened him some way or another. However, Freya would consistently advise him to quit being so 'offbeat' and partake in the sharp, shout, sobs for what they were, and to reign in his creative mind for a couple of seconds. She generally cherished owls. She cherished the outside and natural life as a general rule, yet owls most importantly.

For every Christmas, birthday, every Valentine, or event, he'd search stores for everything under the sun that had owls on them. Or on the other hand foxes, she adored those as well. He'd purchase journals and knapsacks, pencil cases, and feathery sweaters, and she'd not even once worn out on his ability to know and comprehend her particular preferences. In any event, she never showed him assuming she did.

Such a nonconformist as she was, watching her in nature generally invoked a grin. How she'd move through wild bluebells and skip across leaf-littered forest dressed not to dazzle, but rather basically, in hard-wearing pants that embraced the state of her legs and harsh boots however old as she seemed to be. Regardless of the climate, the sun would track down its direction to her at the absolute best of minutes, with perfect timing to hit the dance floor with her hair as it streamed fiercely around her. On the off chance that he was truly fortunate, it'd get the inebriating green-blue of her eyes as she gave him a maverick to investigate her shoulder. That intriguing, carnal, smile she wore set his spirit burning.

Minutes like these she sparked in him something wild. Albeit a generally speaking saved man, she some way or another grasped his childhood and yanked it to the cutting edge of his being. With her, he tracked down his opportunity. Genuine opportunity. Her energy, her grin, her soul. It was irresistible.

The owl shrieked once more, yanking him back into the current moment. His cigarette had practically consumed itself with smoldering heat while his recollections consumed him. That happened a great deal nowadays. Startling snapshots of tranquility, lost time as though his body froze while his awareness turned back the clock until something outside snapped him back into the real world. Something horrible, something vile, similar to the barn owl. Constraining on him the present while his entire being existed distinctly before, weaved with a lost love so unadulterated he had no clue about how his lungs drew breath as time passes.

How is it that he could in any case live in a world while half of himself had been torn away? How could his eyes flicker and his hands still grip? How should his feet convey him forward, when all the zest he had for life died right alongside her?

From the day she passed away, the exact instant her spirit chose to go on without him, he yearned to no end more than to be with her.

A once energetic man presently delivered a vacant shell.

A vessel.

A dead, callous, machine.

Yearning to be any place he could hit the dance floor with her in the bluebells, or skip with her through the autumn leaves.

With the last ashes of his cigarette, he took one final draw, then, at that point, flicked the shining tip to the ground. The fuel-drenched ground touched off a pathway of fire, following him back into the home.

He sat on his fabric couch and watched the fire climb the walls, immersing the home around him. He shut his eyes against the heat, swallowed down a lungful of smoke, and laid his head back against the pads.

There she was again… the captivating elements of her face, the entrancing curves of her body.

She waved.

He made a beeline for her.

The barn owl cried from past the timberline.