b'The Barn Owl did she feel his beak on her ear, so he flutters in triumph back down to the earth. Matthew Page The barn owl was jubilant. He swallowed with pride, and gasped at the taste of the moons milky hide. (Darkness.) Theres not a mouse, not a vole, not a shrewHUN: The barn owl had the most beautiful plumagewho tastes nearly as good as the flesh of the moon. of all the birds of the forest. His feathers wereSo the next night, he flew back up to his perch. feathered with silver. Old gold. As pale and as coldBit off a chunk. as the pure driven snow. As white as those Christmases.Fell back down to earth. From long ago.And every night since, hes made the same flight. He was a drifter. An iceberg. A ghost on the surf. His turfUntil one night, her ear was all gone, and by now, was the forest. On a hares breath,the moon had finally noticed that something was hed waft from tree to tree, searching, he said, for micewrong. Shes starring, aghast, but instead, his true interest lay in admiring his wingsat the crater in her head, but the owl hasnt finished, in the pools of the moonlight that drippedfar from it, instead he continues to tear at her silvery skin and, between the cracks in the trees. soon half her face has been eaten away. The moon. Oh, the moon.Every day, The barn owl hated the moon.or every night I should say, Jealous, he glares through his twig chandelier,his mouthfuls get larger, beak full to the brim, his belly would churn at the sight of her silversoftand he swallows her down with a satisfied smile.hair; her smile was as wide as a moons smile can be.Until at last, one night, She knew she was gorgeous. Morewhens hes finished his meal, gorgeous than he.he looks down at the earth, Smugness! He scoffed and took off in huff,and trees, and the sea, but soon enough, hed be back again,all sprawling below, back on his branch again, staring, wearingand he sees with a start, a face that could curdle new milkthat something is sick in the heart of the land, as the moon combed her hair, as silver and as supple aslike the skin of an apple whos core has gone bad. spiders silk.As the owl devoured the last of the moon, That should be me, Im more precious than her,the gloom settled in - hes here now to stay.I deserve to be loved by all those stars aboveThe tide doesnt tickle the rocks of the bay, and all the creatures belowand so,the sea lies as a puddle, barn owls resentment would grow and grow.huddled tight to her bed. Ive got to find something! the owl told his tree.The ocean is dying. The tiniest flaw. No one is perfect. They cant be. It cant be.The ocean is dead. Ive got to see for myself. So he opens his wings andAnd forest is faring no better than sea, he leaps for the sky. Stealthy,the trees stare at the hole where the moon used to behe soars on up to the moon.and they raise up a cry, an almighty wail, She is painting her nailsso she doesnt see the owlbut already, their leaves are beginning to droop and pale. as he sailsaround, around and around againTheir arms fall to their sides, as they slump to the earth, and around three times more,and down on the turf, beasts take up the moan. searching her face for the tiniest flaw The wolf howls loudest. Hes lost his best Not a crack. Not a stain. Not a spot.friend. A wound even time is unable to mend, Not a wrinkle. The owls heart was starting to sink, alland all that the wolf could repeat, it was said: his fears had come true, she really was perfectexcept? The forest is dying. He now had a plan.The forest is dead. He knew what to do.The owl merely burps. He picked out a patch, and flew.He scratches his head. Flew down.He looks at the carnage and chaos below; a twitter of sadness Down to a point just above her left ear, and here, he stopped.creeps into his eyes, but he cant quite The moon was admiring her nose in the sea,disguise that flicker of greed as he so she didnt notice the owl on his perch, and norlooks to the stars. A fine meal, indeed. 46 47'