Owl Snags the Moon
| Owl was perched in his hooting tree, his mind wandering. It was late on a winter night. The frost was deep, the river was coated in ice, and it was a hard job scaring up any vittles. Mouse and Vole had gone to ground and were holed up in their winter quarters under the snow. Even Hare was hard come by since Old Mother Coyote had prowled through the neighborhood. Owl dug his talons deeper into the Oak bough he was clinging to, and ground his beak, thinking about a fresh rodent. |
All the stars were out glittering on the black Sky, and Owl could see deep into the snow-filled woods in the starlight. But nothing stirred. The frigid air was breathless. The only sounds were the booming of the ice and the popping of frozen pines.
Owl gave a sharp HOOT-HOOT and swiveled his head around, just in case, but
no startled shadows flitted across his view. In fact there were barely any
shadows at all. The Moon was old, and wouldn’t rise until just before
dawn. Only starlight dappled the snow below. Owl hopped around until he was
comfortable, took a firm grip, ruffed out his feathers, and closed his eyes.
Soon Owl was asleep.
In his waking life Owl is a wise old bird, not given to impulsive foolishness,
or idle sport. It’s true he loves a quick chase and a sudden kill, but
they are as much part of his necessary economy as they are thrilling. Owl
has a reputation for calm judgment, and deep insight into the dark reaches
of the soul.
But in dreams Owl loves to skate. Maybe it’s an inheritance from his
Canadian relations, or some echo of another life. In any case, in dreams Owl
longs to play hockey. So now the dreaming Owl was gliding effortlessly across
the Black Ice, sweeping an Oak branch back in forth in front of him. His talons
dug deeper into his perch. Owl skated on.
He skimmed along the Cathance, skating downriver from Town Farm Bend. Past
the smelt camps at the Second Middle Ground, all dark and empty at this late
hour. He skimmed smoothly down the Brooklyn shore, executing pirouettes and
skating backwards, looking over his shoulder. When he came alongside Little
Fish Camps, Owl lifted up gracefully and flew under the Bowdoinham Bridge,
sailing over the open water in the old mill race. He touched down lightly
opposite Cathance Landing. Owl skated on.
Owl was humming an old hootsong to himself as he swept through Riverbend Camps.
He smacked an empty beer can left and right with his stick, then put it away
into the darkness under the Oaks lining the river. Owl skated on.
Owl had a nice sweat worked up as he rounded Wildes Point and the Bay open
up before him. And there, way out across the Bay, he saw the loveliest glowing
puck, resting on the ice, just waiting for him. Owl skated on.
Faster now, as if swooping on a fleeing Hare, Owl raced across the Bay. Owl
had never skated so swiftly. It was exhilarating. The cold air streaming into
his face blew back his feathers, and made his eyes water. His vision blurred.
Owl hooted happily to himself. Owl skated on.
Sprinting now, Owl sped up to the loose puck. It was edged in an eerie light,
and seemed to shine in Owl’s watering eyes. He swept out his stick and
snagged the puck.
Owl braked sharply. Hooked around with the captured puck, and began racing
back toward the Cathance. Owl swiveled his head around and around as he fled,
hunting for an opponent who might challenge his possession. Each time Owl
glanced over his shoulder he seemed to catch sight of a flickering shadow
behind him. But, if he spun around to confront it, the shadow disappeared.
Owl skated on.
Owl scuttled across the ice. Past Brick Island and Little Brick. Past the
dark trees on Centers Point. Across the frozen flats. Faster and faster Owl
skated. But he was more and more anxious. The chasing menace behind him appeared
to get larger and darker and more ominous. Just before Owl reached the mouth
of the Cathance he braked suddenly. Spun round and raised his stick to high
check the pursuing shadow.
And the Old Crescent Moon escaped from Owl’s stick. It lifted up off
the ice and shone down onto the frozen Bay. Owl’s dark double stretched
out on the ice behind him, the shadow of his stick raised in the air to strike.
Owl gasped in shock. Then laughed aloud at his foolishness.
Owl awoke on his perch, hooting in hilarity. The Old Crescent Moon was lifting up over the trees. Owl hooted again. And just then, a young Hare, foolishly sneaking out for a dawn assignation, was spooked by the wild hooting, and ran willy-nilly in a panic. Owl shook his head, and dropped into the chase, on silent wings. The Moon kept rising.
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