Tower and Town, November 2016

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The Barn Owl

Light fell upon my wings, filtered by a minuscule crack in the roof. I blinked my eyes open. A cacophony of clatters startled me into the real world: Someone was in my barn. Cautiously, I peered over the edge of my nest down into the barn. Several large creatures wearing green pelts were stomping around and making a racket. They appeared to be putting a shiny grey thing together. Then I realised I had more important things to do than watch strange creatures doing strange things.

I spread my wings and took off through the entrance of the barn, out into the criss-cross of honeycomb fields beyond. The landscape unfolded before me, and I felt as if I ruled the world as I glided over forest after forest, field after field. As I flew on, the fields became green and full of black-and-white specks making unfamiliar noises.

The next valley contained a wreckage of grey and red rock, patrolled by more two-legged creatures, this time wearing black pelts and holding black sticks that threw out metal. Over the next hill was a once green, tranquil place; but as I swooped over, I saw that this was now an ugly brown mess full of green-pelted two-legged creatures and machines, hurling metal at black-pelted creatures and machines. The noise was deafening and the field ran red with blood as the creatures fought on to the death.

Beyond this graveyard, the area was decimated and the ground was covered with the white-china forms of bones, and the shrivelled remains of dead plants. As I circled back, I soared over a shiny grey square of rock, full to the brim with two-legged creatures. One of them was elevated above the others and was shouting in his own language. The others seemed to respond, and marched onwards out of the area shouting rhythmic sounds as they followed the lead creature.

I glided low through a once dense thicket of trees, now a spooky-looking cluster of gnarly brown dead trees. Once, this place was full of birdsong and prey, but now it was deserted, a wrecked grove of stunted shrubs where no birds called and no prey ran.

Two valleys further on was a ruined settlement, once full of tall brick towers, now a distorted pile of rubble and shiny grey rock. The air was thick with debris and dust and the streets were still traversed by slightly unusual-looking beings wearing ragged pelts and sucking small, fat sticks, before exhaling grey clouds.

I flew on. Eventually the golden fields spread to the horizon again, and the world was a peaceful place, where I could be without a care in the world once more. As I coasted on the thermals beneath my wings, I began to admire the true beauty of the landscape around me. The woods were a lush green, the fields were as gold as the feathers of an oriole and the valley was alive with the calls of songbirds, the squeaks of rodents and the trills of cicadas as I wheeled across the aquamarine sky.

Uplifted, I descended back into my barn for the night.

Ted Warner