The Harbinger Of Dreams

As the peak of the Mountain approaches and my dream reaches its close, my eyes find more than I expected.

Before me stands a vision, a solid contrast to the sundrenched snow. It dwarfs both the rising majesty and the dizzying drop of the slope with its unexpected disclosure. It is a dignitary, alien to all that has come to pass within the last half century.

This cameo that stands before me is that of a daydream that had ceased contact with me long ago.

A casual observer would have called it for what it was: a barn owl. But I knew it was no such thing. It would not be that simple for me. For I knew it was the barn owl. You might even call it more than that: a messenger. A messenger that adorned the signposts marking the critical juncture of my youth as my road shifted course through the distant brambles of adulthood.

I saw it first in our barn, where knowledge informed me it was most likely to be; in that place where chores had been relegated and moments of silence comprehended.

And thus it rose within my mind, the avatar of a church refugee lurking innocently in the shadows.

I soon caught its reflection in the guise of the river, like a doubt-bound mirage; a semblance of duality and the imminent splitting of paths.

And it was gone.

Gone forever, or so it seemed.

For one night, it came back with company. I gazed in wonder at the tangential sea of eyes, its divergent clones, sparkling like embers on the coastline hills, a cavalcade of visions dancing frenetically in the dark.

And as that night came into bloom I rode its wings across the sea, to a distant shore, far, far, far from my home.

Then all that was left was the passing of years; years that brought countless changes, and even more countless messengers, to my life.

But now…now it was here.

Here, once again.

Here for the dream that would be awoken; here for the embryo that would take its place.

On the might of its wingspan the transfer took place, and the boundaries of manifestation were crossed.

The magic had come back. It was here, before my very eyes; closer than ever before; so close I could caress it with my own anticipating hand; a slave to the futures that pulled me every which way.

My left hand grips tightly for purchase as my eyes dare not break from its stare. The climb has been a treacherous one—the greatest challenge I have ever mounted in my entire life—but my confidence spares me a leap and my hand finds its place easily.

With my free hand I reach out, no doubt in my mind of the high cost that weighs precariously upon me. Dreams are gone as Life and Death now wait in the wings, my form teetering in the balance.

As I stretch forth, the owl stares on; gauging me; it’s well trained eyes the probe that is the instrument of my test. It calmly awaits the choice that must be made, and I alone shall tend to. The answer in my heart is that it can be done. I believe that this vision is here for me. Perhaps it is my reward for listening to its call; for making good on the promise that we swore on oh so long ago.

I stretch further out, gripping the rocky outcropping with trained finesse, combating the elements that begin to ebb and flow out of remission to capsize me.

It is almost within reach. I can nearly sense the ruffling of feathers in the frosty wind. As softly as the snow that comes swirling towards me now.