It was never Owl’s
The stories always get it wrong.
Owls, always owls, charismatic and powerful, holders of Wisdom, silent sentries. Owls, the guardians of night. Moon’s eyes. Star’s storyteller. Minerva’s Owl. Owl, who can cut through the nebula’s glaze, revealing transparency and truth, birth and growth and decay.
Mythology says so. So it is. Generations of her stories become belief, then truth. The Owl holds her wisdom. But, Mythology? She is a jealous lover.
Owl does indeed fly by night, vision sharp and penetrating. His feathers’ delicately divided edges, small sliced contours who beckon Sound. Sound tumbles in and is enveloped in softness, pillowy warmth. She sinks into sumptuous feathers, into luxury. In Owl’s respite, Sound is held instead of echoed. She calms, stays, stretches. Owl enchants Sound. Sound, who spirals into love and keeps her promise. No one shall hear you, dear owl. Hush, I’ll hold you, fill you, as you hold me.
Mythology curls her many fists, incandescent with rage. Spiteful and selfish, she protests: But from whom shall we get our wisdom if you soar on silent wings? Who will spread my stories? Who will keep them alive? Who? Who? And so, Mythology curses Owl, giving but one word as punishment for his betrayal.
The delicate fringe of feathers romances Sound and fuels Mythology’s fury. Owl listens, whose side to choose? Whose love is stronger?
Mythology’s daughter, Story speaks. With lowered eyes, she whispers. You digest me, she says. You accept only pieces of me. You reject others. For you, I am never complete, but torn, reworked, spit out. Story glances at her mother, then to Owl’s talons. You gladly take me, then shred me, Story says. What is worthy? What is not? I am incomplete. You gift Listeners judgement, offered in fur and bone. They tell other futures with those bones, she whispers. But apart, they are not truth, they are no longer mine. Who is nourished without flesh, by bone alone, she asks? Who?
All along, the translation was wrong. It was never supposed to be Owl. The wisdom was not his to offer. Language sighs, seeing all of their beautiful, disparate parts. Language came first. They are the elder. Language sees all the pieces of what should be, what was, what could be again. Language knows that words have been lost, replaced, reformed. They caress Mythology. Dear child. Your pain need not be. Go back to the beginning, she says. Your word will blossom once again. Once you get the translation right. It was never Owl. Language lifts Story. Let me shine a light, Language says. Look.
Another appears, sideways. Feeling first the edges of Story. A quick stroke, mapping her shape. Little by little. Learning her. A soft sigh. A murmur. The Stranger feels which pieces have been left behind and how they fit. Story’s not broken, she never was. How could she be? Story is universal. She may change, but she may never die.
The Stranger speaks. Story, like me, you’ve changed over time. You’ve twisted and turned, banking on mistakes, enveloping them, absorbing the changing conditions. You are fast and slow. You are cadence and melody. You are full of color, frequency, and song. You’ve been pollinated, that’s all.
Your golden pieces were meant to leave and learn, the Stranger says. But they always echo back. You can put yourself back together again, Story. Listen for them. Let Sound be your eyes. Breathe in, the Stranger says. Let Scent fill your soul. Your pieces fill the breeze, aromatic and sweet. Bring them all in.
Yes. Yes. Here they are.
Story breathes in her pieces. Looks to Language. Smiles at Mythology. Thanks the Stranger. The Stranger who pollinated her pieces with love, all along.
It was never the Owl, she smiles.
The Knowledge.
It is Light. It is Dark. It is Twilight. It is Dawning.
It is Vespertine. Cresting along the edges of light, acrobatic in its delight. Gliding, gossamer, and gifted with patagium, slicing with those silken membranes, held fast between fingers Darting, seeing, caressing, feeling all edges of Story.
No, it is not avian, this wisdom-holder. It is chiropteran. It is chiropteran.













