Janelle wearing a cut-out owl mask. Our life right now is boxes, boxes, boxes. And even while we prepare, there is a quickening. The Big Move is approaching. Schools start letting people know who's in and who's out this week - a process that continues for another month and a half.
Yet today is a still, grey, overcast day in the world. Eleanor is fast asleep, dreaming her dreams of perambulation and care. And our house is in the kind of quiet, thick clutter and chaos that accompanies a big move: On the kitchen counter is a hammer, some bailing wire, and an open box of Toasted Oats cereal. A cactus is dying by the window. Our rental agreement is being used as a doorstop. Sunlight keeps attempting to puncture the cloud bank. It illuminates a tree. It illuminates a shed.
The owl is a nocturnal aquatic mammal who made a deal with the feathered serpent. It is a griffin and a dragon and a penguin combined. The noble owl can open beer bottles with its beak. It tends to its young like a careful Dutch nurse. When the owl thinks, it thinks dry thoughts that slip out onto the surface, profound ocean of night. I am an owl. I have an owl. I like owls. You are becoming an owl.
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