Through My Eyes

No one knows the things I have seen. The countless lives that have passed right by me. No one takes notice of the old barn owl sitting in the tree. They all go on with their lives; falling in love, moving on, some staying and dying. I’ve seen crops fail and farmers fall to their knees screaming and begging for the rain to come and wash prosperity and life back to their fields; I’ve seen children running and screaming with glee, unaware of the responsibilities I know are coming their way, and I’ve seen lives end only to be buried under this old oak tree I call my perch.

My favorite lives are the ones that come out kicking and screaming, demanding to be seen. His name was Samuel, and he was the first to take notice of me, his large doe eyes taking in my form as I preened my feathers, readying myself for a night of hunting and watching. He was young back then, too young to be by himself, I thought. I heard the yelling from the house, his mother frantically yelling for him to come back for supper. This year had been challenging on the family; the crops weren’t growing, the land far too dry and barren to sustain most life. The bank had come by two days ago, leaving the family struggling to come to terms with the reality that the crops had almost cost them their home. I knew the mother had given up her most prized possession to save them. For now, it would do; they had survived another season only to be hanging on by a thread.

The next ten years flew by, Samuel became more robust and more resilient. He still had those eyes that were full of curiosity; he spent many nights sitting with me contemplating joining the armed service or staying here and helping his family survive the seasons. The world had been kinder to the family, crops more abundant, life springing up around the farm, and the stress of survival had been lifted off the farmer’s shoulders. These things never last, though, already elderly when Samuel was born, the farmer’s body had been weary lately, and getting around was much harder; he needed the extra help. Samuel decided to leave, see the world while he could. He kissed his weeping mother goodbye and shook his father’s rough hands with promises to return in two years to take over the farm and settle down for the next generation to take over.

Unlike the family, I know time and death are not kind and do not wait. The farmer hadn’t lasted a year; his death beckoned Samuel home. He was not the same as before; the curiosity in his eyes had been replaced with a hardness I had not seen in years. He knew he must come home sooner and take care of his mother and the farm his father had left behind.

The funeral was quiet, with the only sound of a wife’s mourning to beheard. Samuel looked at me as they lowered his father into the ground under my tree. At that moment, I knew things were going to be different.

Samuel found a wife, one who would bore him many children. I can’t say what caused the light to go out in Samuel’s eyes all those years ago, but the day his first child, a daughter, was born, it returned even more intensely than before. Samuel was a good father raising his children with those same curious eyes I had seen all those years ago. The farm flourished under the renewed light and was the most prosperous it had been in years.

The years had caught up with me like they do with most living things. I was a little slower taking off than I used to be. One night, I didn’t get away fast enough and suffered an injury; unable to get up into my tree, I patiently waited to gather enough strength to hop to safety. A sudden snap of a twig took me by surprise; a girl not much older than Samuel when he first found me was peering through long lashes. I felt no malice or ill will from the girl, so I cooed softly at her. She brought me inside and sat me down on the table, unsure whether she should get her parents or take care of me herself. There wasn’t much that could help right now; I knew my body was feeling weak. I was given a bed much more comfortable than anything I had felt before. Samuel came and sat next to me, admiring the nest that his daughter had created for me. My old friend knew our time was coming to an end; we spent the rest of the evening as we had before, enjoying each other’s company. I passed the same night; they buried my body under the old oak tree like those who had come and gone before me.