The owl is oft seen as wise and all knowing. The owl is oft sent to for help, and revered. The cuckold cuckoo owl is not like most owls. Once a happy owl, content in his prospects marriage and ready for nest chicks, the cuckold cuckoo owl had but a few oddities but they were endearing, and soon attracted him a mate who found his odd way of speech charming. He spoke, “Cuckoo cuckoo?” like a rooster inside a man house, like a clock chiming out the hours, a finality with each note. The she owl found him sweet, until the great horned owl flew into their forest. Soon, too soon, the poor cuckoo owl realized his nest chicks were never to be; no his wife was gone and unfaithful. the forest chittered and tittered and jabbered and whispered, “Cuckold cuckoo, where to?” He had no answer. He picked up the mournful cry, the disdainful word; a man’s word to go along with his odd, lilting man speech. If you walk in the woods in the evening you can sit and wait for the hours to tick on, on, on, and on; and eventually you will hear the cry as he wings his stately flight home, to a home empty of nest chicks and mate. He cries, “Cuckold cuckoo? Who is cuckold cuckoo? Cuckoo, cuckoo.” The cuckold cuckoo owl. This was a mimic writing exercise I had to do for a class, and I really like how it turned out :) Emily Martin-Mckamie http://emilymsquared.tumblr.com