The little owl, lost as can be
Flew threw the cloudy night, wings beating swiftly in his silent flight.
His pristine white feathers became ruffled and dull
As the wind pushed and pulled, debris scattered through the air.
The night was desolate other than the little owl. Memories of why haunted him.
Bright light flashed across the sky, uncaring as to who or what it hit.
The light singed the ground, flames flickering up toward the sky.
No one noticed until it was too late.
Acrid smoke awakened the little owl.
He peeked his head out of his home in a large birch tree.
It was then that he saw the chaos that issued.
Fire hungrily licked at the branches of his tree as others flew wildly to escape.
He took off, the need to be free of the flames urgent in his mind.
Heat angrily blasted him from all sides, reluctant to let him go.
Flames nipped and slashed across his feathers leaving him singed.
“I have to make in out! I have to,” he thought desperately.
Twisting and twirling through the maze of flames, the little owl spotted something.
A friend of his stuck on the ground unable to move and transfixed on the fire.
The little owl let out a pleading cry for his friend to move out of danger’s way.
He just stayed there, eyes wide. Frozen.
A wall of flames leapt in front of the little owl.
The last he saw of his dear friend was his wide bright eyes.
“Maybe he made it out. Maybe he made it out,” He chanted over and over again.
There was a loud shriek and he knew… His friend was gone.
Swerving and spinning through the flames like a madman, cold air hit his face.
He had made it out of the blazing inferno and into the cool night sky.
His feathers were covered in soot, bright white now dull gray.
The little owl knew others must have made it out too.
He shook his head, drawing his mind to the present once more.
His golden eyes, glazed with fatigue looked a head and saw something.
A feather. A feather floating through the now still air.
Eyes widening he sped up and caught it between his outstretched talons.
He stared at it intently. White. It was as white as his feathers used to be.
That gave him hope. However little it would be.
It could just be another owl passing through the storm. His kind was not uncommon.
But maybe, just maybe, it was a member of his family that had escaped.
He let that thought kindle in his heart and took off with new strength.
Wings beating strong, the little owl had a new mission in mind.
He had to know who that feather belonged to.
He just had to.
(A/N now that I think about it... I should have used the beginning for my lyrical...)
