|Image courtesy of Pixels.com|
There once lived an owl, too wise yet too crazy for his own good. Night by night, he soared the dark, wet air of the midnight forest, always keeping to himself.
The darkness was his ally—his friend. He flew alone.
On the night of the full moon, lightning flashed in the distance and a low-lying storm slithered in.
It slowly draped the moon in its evil warmth.
Every night, the owl scanned the ghostly forest from his secret perch. He watched and observed all.
On this night, as the full moon's light was slowly swallowed by the advancing storm, the owl made not a sound, barely moving as he waited on his perch in a mangled tree.
He was silent and sullen, even when he proceeded to drop from his branch and glide through the lull of the trees.
As he flew, his feathers radiated rays of silver and white from the dying moonlight. He sailed directly towards the moon, his big luminous eyes fixed on it as he drew nearer.
He flew closer and closer to the moon until he got so far away that you could only see a dark speck steadily creeping towards the hidden horizon in the flash of a lightning strike.
It wasn't before long until he flew right into the moon and could no longer be seen. He had made it, just as the storm clouds devoured the moon and they both departed into the night.