I perused the rack of
Owls surrounded me in my childhood home. Little pewter and shiny brass owls on shelves. Pictures of them on the walls. Pottery owls found at local arts and craft shows. Owl ornaments on the Christmas tree. My mom loved owls.
The owl still remains to me one of the most mysterious creatures God made. A few years ago, I had the privilege to see one take a short flight across our backyard. We knew one lived somewhere up in the neighboring trees. We could hear him talk in the deep black of night as we sat in the swing discussing our day. One night, I heard a strange noise, one I can't put into words, and we looked up to see him, wings magnificently spread several feet across, swooping to another nearby tree. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.
After all these years of looking at little owl trinkets, I was surprised by how large the owl was. Taking something that is real and transferring it to a lifeless little idol takes away the awe and wonder of a living being. I had been looking at an image of the owl all along, but to see it move in its natural state was breathtaking.
When I was little, I never knew what the owl would mean to me. Last night, as I donned my Happy Owl-O-Ween tee shirt from Walmart at Madalyn's school fall festival and cued music for a reveling game of musical chairs, a lady stepped into the room with a lovely owl necklace hanging around her neck. It was aged silver with brilliant blue jeweled eyes that seemed to stare right through me.
Every owl takes me to this place. A place of joy and wonder. Back to my mother's smile. Back to a time when I didn't know that cancer existed. Back to her, to her love of one of God's mysterious creatures.
I am thankful for owls, both real and all the tiny little images I find around me everywhere I go. I am thankful for the owls because they remind me of the mother of my childhood.