Brith
As he slowly made his way along the dark, familiar corridors of the old house, he thought about what he should do. He knew he had to do something about it. His thoughts raced about his head, like drunken horses in a circus tent.
His cast his mind back to that fateful evening three weeks ago, when he first stumbled across it; he'd been taking his regular evening stroll through the plush gardens of his esate - up along the gravel path, into the rich and colourful orchard at the top of the hill, that loomed large over his dark, familiar house.
It was there, beneath the slow, weighted branches of his favourite weeping willow tree, that he first saw it. The moon was weak and seemed to be struggling to reach its venith. A somber evening overcast and drab.
Little did he know, that within moments his routine lonely life would be thrust out of the crippling shadows, and into a new light. A new life.
Under the huge trunk of the tree he stood, eyes squinting to adjust to the darkness.
There!
And again!
There! Yes, there!
Three times he heard it. A warm, husky noise coming from way above his furrowed brow. High above. Down from up in the trees arms came the sound.
There!
Craning his slow neck backward, he peered into the tangled grey crisscross of leaves and bark. The wind brushed aside the tree's limbs for a moment.
I see it!
Gone.
Leaves grumbled above him.
Again!
Resting his ivory walking cane against the tree, he gripped onto the lowest branch he could find, and using all his will - for it was his lack of will that kept him bound within the grounds of his home these days - he pulled himself up into the tree's embrace. He could smell the big damp life of the tree. Sweet sap and moss growth.
The wind tossed his thin grey hair into eyes many times as he laboured towards the sky. An upwards scramble through the leaves and insects.
His eyes stung and his hands slipped as he finally reached the top of the tree - his head broke free of the uppermost canopy and he breathed in the sharp clean air. The wind stroked his hair now.
There!
It is there!
One eye closed, preening itself, with an air of nonchalant normally reserved for wealthy aristocrats or opulant solcialites, there it sat. Perched and unconcerned.
The owl.
Three weeks had passed since he had seen the owl. He'd shared nothing but the evening breeze and a comfortable branch with it, but somehow he knew it meant more.
He made his way upstairs, into the bedroom he once shared with his long rested wife, placed his walking cane on the neatly made bed, opened the curtains, and gazed unlooking into the night.
His breath slowed and his pulse raced.
He had made his decision.
The crisp morning greeted him as he stepped onto the driveway of his home. Suitcase in hand, he glanced briefly towards the weeping willow tree - it seemed so much smaller in the light - and strode out towards his garage.
Sitting silently in his old car, warm hands resting on the scuffed leather steering-wheel, he craned his relaxed neck backwards and nodded at the owl sitting quielty in the rafters of the garage above him.
He rubbed his hands together, then placed the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine groaned into life.
He had made his decision.
He smiled at the owl and for a moment it seemed that the owl smiled too.
