The Moon's Canvas

Athy was a girl that had always failed in her personal relationships with others because, for whatever reason, she believed (more than she was willing to admit) that she was above them all, and it irked her to imagine a world where she could be considered as an equal to any other. Overtime, Athy acquired an almost feral desire to escape into the forests, whenever she felt overwhelmed by the flawed humanity that she so urgently dis-attached herself from. On this occasion, Athy’s chosen place of refuge was a vast, golden field surrounded by forestry; she always visited one particular clearing, as the quiet there gave her the opportunity to abuse her creative outlets - drawing, painting - weary of a world that was less than her, or so she believed – until that night.

Shielded by her heavy locks of dark brown hair, trimmed uncannily to mimic a kind of war helmet, Athy’s grey, luminescent eyes rested in a state of uncharacteristic tranquillity, as she laid against the trunk of an old evergreen. The sun had long been absent as Athy watched the sky decide on its colour of choice for the night ahead; after a little deliberation, the powers at be had concluded that a purplish blue would be the most fitting one to paint the moon’s canvas.

Above her, the tree posed an excellent throne for a creature too majestic to settle for any less; a creature that could be described in so very many ways – beautiful, magnificent… divine? With its circular eyes, darkly radiant like the Aegean in moonlight, an owl from a nearby barn sheltered itself comfortably below a branch, surreptitiously surveying the surrounding fields, so as not to alarm its lower-ground, ambiguously human neighbour.

As the moon arrived, it seemed reasonable for Athy to retire from her voyage, to her especially – Athy only ever acted in accordance with reason, and never impulse (unless the impulse seemed reasonable, of course). As Athy rose to leave and return home, however, she heard a h…, a howl? No – a ‘hoot’! The owl had somehow flown down and descended blissfully to Athy’s shoulder, for which it sacrificed its throne, aligning itself with the dark-haired girl with a feeling of kinship and familiarity that Athy had never established with any human.

There was a beauty and a plainness in the surroundings that welcomed this electric exchange with open arms, like a story that had just found its moral.

Her instinct was to shrug the owl off in shock and leave hastily, but Athy could not help but steal a long, withdrawn moment to indulge in the sight of a creature so common and yet so inexplicably unique. It was as though the owl and her were kindred spirits, twin souls that had lost their path somewhere in the cosmos, to finally reconvene in the most idyllic of settings. The owl was feathered handsomely with an elegance that matched that of its newfound friend, but beauty alone was never enough to captivate Athy, her fascination was that of the mind; an arrogant girl who dwelled on little and fancied herself to be superior to anything earthly. Alas, the owl was earth, and she the owl’s captive – this was ironic to Athy, but more so, formative, enriching.

Athy found herself compelled by this union – she, for reasons beyond even her comprehension, discovered companionship in this owl, as well as a companion. Humbled by the limits to her greatness that drew her to an outwardly odd, prolonged fixation on an owl (an owl of great stature, but an owl, regardless), Athy’s mind was the richest it had ever been. On this journey to the earth, at its depths, she left the clouds of narcissism she once inhabited and, replacing superiority, her appreciation for others grew. With a sense of destiny that could have been inscribed in the stars, Athy, and her owl, found equality, and there was great peace in that.