We wanted to see an owl.My brother took meout into the woodsbehind our house,the smell of pine needlesfresh in our nosesas we tramped through theundergrowth,the dead leaves as loud ascar horns as I stumbled.Finally, we reached the spotwhere my brother had seen him,the owl.Twisted oak trees stood likesentries, guarding their patch offorest,their boughs ladenwith dry pine cones andsticky sap.My brother peered intently at the tree,searching for the bird.But he wasn’t there.Disappointment crashed into me.Suddenlywe heard a whooshas a huge shape swooped above us,alighting on one of the enormous trees.The owl!He performed a shuffling dancewith his feetand settled onto the branch.He ruffled his feathers,a mottled mix ofgray, brown, and white,and folded his wings.I nearly laughed—he looked so funnywith his little white mustacheperched above the sharp beakand yellow eyes rovingaround the forest, finallysettling on us.He looked down at usas if to say,“Oh, you humans. Watching me again.”The term “wise owl” poppedinto my head.Now I understoodwhy people call them wise—the owl was rather like an old manfull of secrets and knowledgebut unwilling to share.My brother pulled me backto reality,handed mehis binoculars.I stuck my eyesto the rubber sealsand was rewardedwith a close-up viewof the beautiful bird,his feathers nowin sharp detail.I could even seethe wrinkles on hisfluffy, feathered feet.My legs startedto go numbfrom standing in one placeso longbut I didn’t carebecause I was watching the owl.It was almost likewe were in an ancient tomb,yellow light spillingthrough windowscut into brick walls.

Then the owl shookhis feathers and flew silentlyoff the branch, intothe dusky afternoon sky.He was gone.