An Owl In A Storm

An Owl In A Storm

The air was wet and heavy as I exited my home. It had been weeks of wet gray depressive weather and I could feel it taking hold of my spirit. I needed to get away to somewhere bright and warm but at the moment that option was not possible. I had to be content with the walks I could take to get out of the house, even if it meant walking in the afternoon darkness of a dreary winter day.

As I strolled through the neighborhood, I thought about the last week. The events and snapshots were all jumbled in my memory and I needed the quiet solitude of a walk to think it all through in my mind. Had I seen the stranger in my back yard? Had the ominous shadow really skulked through the bushes outside my window or had I created that in my mind. I had been staring so hard into the darkness I had come across an old barn owl lurking on a bent branch waving methodically through the midnight air. The breeze made everything sway and created shadows on the walls around me. As I thought of the scene now, it all felt like a dream. The only part of the scene that felt strangely certain was the presence of the majestic owl perched and thoughtful.

As I came home from the walk, I decided to involve myself with matters of the day and put aside the thoughts of last week. I opened the door and began picking up the house and working on the general chores of my afternoon. Life had become very predictable during the pandemic and the shutdown had me sticking to a relatively routine set of to do items. Today was house cleaning day and as much as I hated to clean, it was a welcome escape from my thoughts. I needed the distraction from the boredom of monotony that had become my life.

As I was rounding the corner to the kitchen to begin unloading the dishwasher, there was a sound from the back yard. My old dog, Izzie, who is mostly deaf and grey, startled at the sound. Was it a crash? A fluttering? The deep growl that emitted from Izzie confirmed that I hadn’t imagined it. I looked out the window and saw nothing. Then I looked down and realized there was a package at the foot of the back door. Should I open it? What could it be? Why hadn’t the delivery driver knocked as they always do to let me know they dropped it off? I realized my paranoia from the events of last week was beginning to get the best of me. I opened the door and picked it up quickly as the hairs stood on the back of my neck, afraid that someone was waiting on the other side of the door to grab me. I scooped it up and brought it in the house without incident. Taking a deep breath, I held it and told myself everything was fine.

As I began to open the unmarked box, I could hear my heart pounding and became conscious that my hands were shaking. Slowly I cut and unwrapped the paper inside that was clearly hiding something underneath. I peeled back the cover of packing paper and discovered it contained a small carved wooden barn owl. No note. No explanation. Just the wooden figure. How odd? Where had this come from and why had it been left for me? Looking at this mysterious offering, I began to think about the symbolic importance of owls in my life. My grandmother who had passed on years prior had always loved owls. She kept carved, sculpted and ceramic owls everywhere in her home. I had read they represented wisdom and for me, that was a perfect metaphor for her. We had been in the room as she passed and I had never felt so deeply sad and yet completely at peace as I had in that moment. She seemed to carry her wisdom and grace even to her passing and the power of this memory would stay with me forever. In that moment, we were truly bonded in spirit and she would always be a part of me. My mind drifted to the quiet memories of our time together through the years. She had been my protector, my confidant and my friend. She had been the wisdom that guided me through the beginning of my life. I missed our talks and the truth and light she shed on my problems. Like the owl, she had been the aged matriarch sitting in the tree waiting to be seen and needed. I was thankful for her guidance and my heart ached to hear her voice through these current challenging times.

As my mind poured over the memories of years gone by, I realized that in many ways I had become the matriarch in our family. I had become the keeper of memories, the distiller of wisdom and the giver of comfort. The transformation from student to teacher had been gradual but I could see it now. As I held the strong, smooth figurine in my hands, I felt what I had been missing. In this time of isolation from the pandemic, the need for the matriarchal support I had been accustomed to giving was no longer possible. I had fallen by the wayside and had been feeling lost and unnecessary to this changing world. I think we were all feeling this way. A disconnection from the people we love and a loss of familiarity and routine. The days had started to melt together and the loneliness and taken hold. The cold winter day suddenly felt even less friendly and I carried the dark wooden owl in my hands as I made my way to the warmth and familiar comfort of an afternoon fire.

As I stood by the mantel absorbing the warmth of a blazing fire, I began to think that perhaps the gift on my doorstep was left by a friend. A friend I had known so many years ago. A friend long gone in the shadows of a mysteriously stormy night. A friend who wanted to remind me that even in the light of a changing world, my wisdom, love and concern for others still has a place. As I carefully set the little carved owl on my mantel, I closed my eyes and let out thoughts of thanks to whomever sent the timely reminder. Soon the dark days of isolation will be a nagging memory and we will be free to live out our roles of comfort and connection with each other again. Even now the little crafted owl remains perched above the warmth of the fire as a beacon for hope and a reminder that each of us has a place of belonging and meaning among those we hold dear.