The Flutter of Life

Two birds begin their tale in a dark, empty space, void of all the clatter and chaos so beloved by breath and light. The first, a crow, bright-eyed and jubilant at the novelty of the new sensations. The second, an owl, wisened beyond its years and jaded to the novelty it witnessed. Together with the soaring highs and the boundless lows, they travel, their destination, unknown. Egg to hatchling, juvenile to adult, spark to shadow, they travel together thus.

A Time Begun

The owl cracked its shell, the first fowl fledging, and entered into its mortal journey. Muted and tempered, it took in its surrounds—a gentle tree here, an overcast sky there. It felt bittersweet about this passing, this change of environment. Gone was its egg, sound and safe; here was a great expanse, too vast to embrace.

The crow squawked its cheer, bouncing around the nest, eyes greedy to spot the first twinkle and shine of all there was to observe and to see. This was new, that was new, all was new to the crow. Never before had it known such a sweet, enchanting place, full of opportunity and delight.

"Where shall we go? What should we see?" The crow hopped up and down in wondrous glee.

"We must plan before we go; be wary before we see." The owl hesitated, unsure of the proper course of action and what consequences might lay in this new, unfamiliar place.

Both birds gradually adventured outwards, the newness of it all, a great experience to be seen. Clumsily they venture forth. At first, never straying too far from the nest. Later, after learning to fly, they soared over sea and stream. Learning the ways of the breeze, and the hiding spots of the grubs. They delighted, together, in the joys this bright place had revealed for them to glean. Wings taught, beaks bright, the two birds flew together, gliding into the night.

A Time Middled

The owl spotted its prey, eyes squinted against the bright summer day. Solemn and muted was its hunt; that was the way the owl liked things, the way it could trust. Reliable talons bore down, ever the resourceful predator, its quarry, snatched up. Soaring back to the nest, it released the rabbit. A feast was to be had, the hare trussed up.

The crow voiced its complaint, its dearest friend too busy with the hunt, making for a lowly playmate. Frolic and merriment, this was the crow's way, for what was life, if not a thing to entertain. A shiny button, freshly found, rested on the edge of their nest; a trophy of its scavenging, such a prize, great cause to be proud.

"Look what I've brought. It sparkles bright in the light, won't you see?" The crow wiggled the button, its glare a bold delight. "We'll make this place ours, a home of the heart!"

"We need meat to survive. Today is fine, I agree, but if a storm were to come, then we would be without any means. This rabbit will make us strong, but we must grow before being carefree." The owl divided the flesh, ensuring there was enough for both, a meal for each of one for today and one for tomorrow. Prepared in advance, should any ill-circumstance arise that couldn't be foreseen.

The birds grew healthy and strong. Now bigger and braver they were, two chicks no more. The nest was kept in order, decorated and draped in the baubles brought back by the crow. A routine emerged, a hunt preformed, only after did the days festivities have time to be observed. A balance of work and play, the two fowl found common ground, a space to parlay. Night came, then day, a new dawn met the two birds at play.

A Time Grown

The owl sensed the shift as it came, springtime flowers turning gray. Hark, the storm comes, swift and sharp. A new place must be found. Sad this made the owl, feeling like it had just warmed to this now old home of the heart. Worrying and fretting, it searched high and low, what place could be found, from where could they depart. Finally it remembered, to make bright eyes and see the novelty of life, to embrace the change it couldn’t control, to wrap strongly its counterpart.

The crow knew they would have to move; it had never expected to stay here forever, in this place so dear, yet it still caused it pain to clear off and depart. Gathering trinkets and mementos, it readied their home, a place most loved, to be left in no fear. The crow knew this, for it was wise beyond its years. What was a nest, what was a home? Not a place at all, just a house for two hearts.

"Feel not sadness, dear owl; this place doesn't know your emotions and pains; it can't relate to such lows. Cheer up, dearest friend, a new place will be found, amid and amongst it all the love that abounds." The crow, ever the optimist cooed softly to the owl. It wouldn't let such a small thing, this moving one's nest, cause pain to its love.

"I don't fear, I just worry." The owl shrugged off the crow's attempts to calm, "It's a scary thing, leaving the known. But I suppose that with you, I will be safe because if we go onward, into the great unknown, we do so as birds of a feather, together in soul."

Mountains and valleys blurred by in a blink, so fast was their flight. Scanning and spying, the location unknown, they travelled many moons, roaming for that special place to call home. Together, they found a place far abreast, it was resilient and ripe, a new nest to call theirs, one that delighted both birds.

A Time Learned

The owl learned that the crow had been right; it wasn't correct to worry, to stay up and fret all night. Their home came with them, never leaving at all, a place that two hearts could rest and grow old. A new nest, a warmer sun, cozy and content. Doing all that could have been done, the owl was pleased, leaving behind all regret. Gentle breezes and lush grass abound underfoot, their nest high above any dangers below, a safe place they could call home.

The crow had come to see caution, a thing once abhorred, as a good guide for things that should best be ignored. To adventure and explore, both things it once loved, now tempered and mellowed; the old crow found it could savor these both once more. Free up high, the clouds as company, vast skies to roam, it was satisfied with their new home, they were vagabond no more.

"Prudence and pragmatism, I used to think both such a bore," The aging crow nestled its head into the soft wing of the owl. "Now I see the virtue in temperance once more. Thank you, dear owl, for showing me to care for things I once ignored.”

"Laughter and joy, things I used to not know; I respect them now, see the light they bring to the soul." The owl shifted closer to the crow, stretching its wing out to make space, to keep its oldest friend warm, "Thank you, dear crow, what joys I might have missed; were it not for the splendor and beauty, things you taught me to cherish. I pray they stay strong and true, bringing pleasure and delight to us both.”

The birds sat solemn, a time for reflection, of long lives lived, so much behind, with still much ahead. No longer could they plummet from skies crisp and clear, to snatch swiftly prey up, a memory held so dear. Slower skies, wandering mice, these were the things of their final frontier.

In a golden, honeyed home, brimming with life, carefully cherishing their time together, sat two birds who had loved each other across the years. The first, a crow, still bright-eyed, but now cautious, no longer throwing itself into dangers unknown. The second, an owl, still wisened beyond its years, took great strides to appreciate the wonders that previously fell on deaf ears. The soaring highs, the boundless lows, together they had travelled, their origins well known. Egg to hatchling, juvenile to adult, spark to shadow, they had travelled together. A great life had been had, for these birds of a feather, brimming with joy, they watched the sun set, a smile of delight graced two faces from beak to beak.