Owls
I
like owls.
Not
sure why.
I’m
not overly infatuated
with
real owls,
especially
when one
ate
my kitten.
Still,
I admire these stately birds.
Mostly,
I like decorative owls.
I
have an elegant, brown ceramic owl
sitting
atop my entertainment center.
It’s
really a vase.
I
set a tablet and pen by it.
When
something good happens
I
rip off a piece of paper,
write
the blessing down,
and
stick it in the owl.
The
owl’s belly is full of good things,
just
like all bellies should be.
Also,
by this owl sits a little stuffed owl
wearing
a graduation cap.
I
bought it for my daughter
when
she graduated from college.
Now,
it cheers me on to finish my degree.
I
have owls on my towels.
I
have owls on a mug.
At
a writers conference
they
had gift packages you bid on.
I
liked the one with the owl mug,
and
it happened to be my birthday.
When
the bids were about to close,
I
saw that there was a name after mine.
I
thought if God wants me to have it
for
my birthday, He’ll have to give it for me.
I
didn’t sign my name and walked out.
In
the next class, my friend said,
“I
signed your name on that package you wanted
just
before the bidding closed.”
So
when I drink from my owl cup
I
remember the day
God
Himself wished me a Happy Birthday
with
a little help from a friend.
