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Forever Thankful

The Owl Changed My Life.

By Carrie KernsPublished 3 years ago 2 min read
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The barn was cold. The barn had always been cold. In fact, I cannot recall a single moment in my life in which the barn was a comfortable temperature.

It never really bothered me, though. The cold air felt good against my cheeks whenever I would run out in the dark to the old building.

I'd tend to laugh at myself; it wasn't even my barn, nor did the owners know I spent long nights in it. It was the neighbors. I suspected the old man who lived there built it in his youth. But it isn't like it is actively taken care of. The paint is chipping, the door has lost its hinges, and the rafters have been taken over by overgrowth from the foliage and creatures of the valley.

Usually when I arrive at the barn, I hear the small animals flee. I can sense their tension and desire to escape. They don't know I wouldn't dare to hurt them.

There was, though, one animal who didn't bother to leave.

An old barn owl, who seemed to always be perched on the third rafter down. It was strange to me at first. Why wasn't he out hunting? Maybe he was old. His presence could be accompanying the old barn. Maybe they had history together.

The only reason I point him out is because he was there every night. For countless weeks I'd take books out late at night, and he was always just there. I'll admit, I'd talk to him sometimes. I'd sit on the old hay bales and read to him.

And this will sound funny, but I feel like he would sometimes listen. He'd hoot back at my questions, sometimes make remarks at points in my books. He may have just been an owl, oh but did I feel like he understood me.

It was a warm summer night a few years back, though, that when I entered the cool barn he wasn't there. My heart sunk; why wasn't he there? I didn't sleep that night. Not like I got much sleep in general, but his absence disturbed me.

It was a few nights later that I finally brought up the courage to return to the barn. When the owl (which I admittedly named Sebastian, after an old friend.) didn't come that night, I was afraid. I was likely overacting, but I was afraid the owl not appearing was a sign; an unbalance in the force, or whatever.

When I did return to the barn, the owl still wasn't there. I don't know why I got my hopes up. Of course he didn't return, he's an owl. But all my thoughts and worries went away when I looked towards the pile of old hay I sat on.

Perched on top of it was a feather, long and silky. I gasped slightly; it wasn't normal of me to exclaim out loud, but the owl had left a feather for me.

I'm very sure It wasn't there the first night he didn't appear, so I was happy as a clam.

I'm sure this story might go unnoticed, but there is a moral. I'm not sure what it is or how to describe it exactly, oh but is it a powerful moral.

The feather he left me has been lost to time, but it gives me a warm feeling every time I think back to it. Sebastian the Owl changed my life in ways I cannot express. I am forever thankful for the barn owl.

bird
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About the Creator

Carrie Kerns

Writing is something that gives me so much happiness and joy in life and I couldn’t live without having it as an outlet for both my creativity and relaxation.

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