The Visiting Owl

Joe Fulcher didn’t have much to live for anymore.

At an age north of 80, he felt like the end was near. All of his friends were long gone. His crops in the backyard field weren’t growing like they use to.

Even his small town of Mumford wasn’t like it used to be. Everyone had moved to larger cities, on to better lives.

No one wanted to stick around a tiny farming town anymore. There was no action: no high school sporting events, no late nights out on the town, not even the annual Summer Days festuval held after the Fourth of July.

Joe didn’t know why he stuck around. He had no family to talk to, no neighbors within a few miles. It was just him in the old farmhouse he shared with his wife Marsha for over 50 years.

It’s been over a decade since Marsha took her last breath of Earth. Her little heart couldn’t take it anymore and she was gone before Joe could say goodbye.

He didn’t want to either. They were best friends, soulmates. They lived the best life with one another.

Joe farmed while Marsha taught grade school. They had three children together, but they’re all grown now with their own families. Joe and Marsha had each other.

And that’s all they really needed.

Every since she’s been gone, life hasn’t been the same. Joe can’t sleep at night. He has no motivation to go through his day.

Without her here, what’s the point of it all anyway?

He wanted to be with her. He didn’t know when his time would come, but hopefully soon. He didn’t want to spend any longer of life without Marsha.

Joe began his Thursday morning with a cup of coffee. He never knew what Marsha did with it, but she made it taste like Heaven. Now, it tastes like something one would buy from a gas station on a budget.

As he read his morning papers, trying to mull his head around many of the crazy headlines of the day, he heard a noise.

He looked up from his paper, his brittle hands shaking the pages. Just over the paper’s top edge, Joe saw it. A bird.

No, he thought. It wasn’t a bird.

It was an owl.

The creature colored in brown and white sat on the open window sill staring at him with orange, bulging eyes that wouldn’t stop staring at him.

Joe didn’t know what to think. He flapped his newspaper pages at the creature. Nothing. Not one movement of any kind.

He did it again. “Shoo, you damn thing.”

The bird wouldn’t budge. Joe managed to stand up from his old kitchen chair. As he landed on his feet, a familiar voice spoke to him.

“I’m not far away, honey.”

The voice sounded like someone else in the room. Joe looked about his surroundings in the small kitchen.

“Who said that?”

The voice spoke again. “Don’t you worry, honey. Everything will be alright.”

He turned around again. Where was the voice coming from? It grew louder this time.

“Who said that?” He repeated. “Who’s there?”

Joe scratched at his head. The owl continued to stand in the window, as still as a rock.

“Keep going honey,” the voice said, only this time, it sounded just like Marsha.

Joe looked at the owl, scratching at his head some more in confusion. It couldn’t be his late wife. No way.

The voice spoke again. This time, Joe was sure Marsha was speaking.

“I couldn’t continue with life,” the voice said. “Oh, how I wished I could. But you did. Don’t let this life pass you by. Don’t wallow in your own pity. Go live it, Joe. Go live it.”

Joe rubbed his eyes, opening them. “Marsha?”

The voice spoke a final time. “We will see each other someday. I promise.”

Joe looked at the owl again, only this time it moved. It flapped its wings and faded into the morning air like the end of a movie.

Could the creature have been his late wife? Or was it pure imagination?

Joe didn’t know. He longed to see Marsha once again. He had never seen a creature like that owl before in his life.

But it was no owl. It was Marsha.

Joe was sure of it.