Day and Night

The moon was showing in the sky as the rooster looked up at the owl. The oak tree loomed large in the evening where her eyes peered sadly back at the rooster. He hated when she did that. She was so cute when she pretended to be sad.

“But you just woke up. I’ve been up all day and I have to get up early,” he explained.

It was true, no one on the farm worked harder than the rooster. All day long he cawed at the hens, herding them into their coups where he supervised the egg laying. They never stayed put though. If the rooster turned around for just one minute, the hens would be off in all directions, scratching for food and pecking at the dirt. He needed his sleep. He needed a good night’s sleep.

The sky was quickly growing darker. The rooster hated the dark. It was cold. It was scary. He couldn’t understand how the owl liked it so much. All he wanted to do was curl up in his coup and close his eyes. That darkness was ok. It was his darkness.

The owl’s eyes flickered like stars. “That’s ok,” she said, defeated. “I’ll just fly around and watch you as you sleep.” She let out a sigh. The rooster knew what that meant but there was nothing he could do. It was dark now. He had to go to sleep.

The owl peered down from her perch in the old oak tree. The farm yard was quiet and only a small mouse could be seen scurrying towards the barn where the horses slept. She watched as it zigged and zagged and zigged towards a small knothole in a wood panel. Even in the pitch darkness the owl could see its short tail flicking back and forth as it ran. She could see it as it stopped suddenly and raise its head to peer around, as though it knew it was being watched. She could see it shiver in fear before ducking into the barn.

The nighttime was the best time, thought the owl. It was clear and silent and only the clouds moved against the bright moon. The clouds casted blurred shadows that could only be seen from very high above. No one knew about the shadows. No one but her.

“Are you sleeping?” She whispered to the rooster? He didn’t respond so she whispered louder. “Honey, are you sleeping?” There was no response so the owl swooped down and landed on top of the rooster’s coup. She wanted to tell him about the shadows that the clouds cast in the moonlight. She wanted to tell him about the mouse in the barn. She wanted to tell him she loved him. “Psssst!” Are you sleeping?

“Ughh? Is there something wrong? Did the hens get out?” He mumbles something more that she can’t understand. He is dreaming. The owl smiles and wriggles her grey feathered ears. He’s so cute when he’s dreaming she thinks.

Later that night, soaring high above the pastures, admiring the blurry shadows of the clouds in the moonlight, the owl, with her impressive eyesight, spots the mouse as it carefully exits the small hole in the side of the barn. Her stomach growled as she watched it zig and zag towards a hay bale in the barnyard. She began circling lower. The mouse zagged and zigged towards the hen houses. The owl circled even lower. Then, just as the mouse darted towards the roosters coup, she plunged like an arrow, striking the ground and clasping the squealing rodent in her talons. Her wings beat downwards at the dirt, stirring dust with loud whooshing, pushing herself upwards and onto the roof of the coup.

The noise startled the rooster. He awoke from his dream, confused. Looking up out the window, he saw the lifeless body of the mouse dangling from her lovers grasp. He saw her silouhette against the moon as she tore its flesh. He heard the bones crack in her hooked beak. ‘What was happening?’ He thought.

He must have said it out loud because the owl immediately peered in, ruby glistening on the feathers around her face. “Go back to sleep baby.” She whispered.

“What’s happening?” he asked again.

“Nothing, I’m just having a snack,” she said, taking another bite of the mouse. “Go back to sleep.”

The rooster grumbled something about having to wake up early and rolled back over and quickly fell back asleep. On the horizon, the edge of the world was beginning to brighten. The moon was smaller now and dimmer. There were no more cloud shadows.

The owl yawned wide. The mouse was completely devoured and she was quite full. She was also getting tired. The sky was barely bright and yet the light hurt her eyes. She hated the sun so much. Always shining and hot. How could anyone bear the glare in the day? She needed to sleep before the sun came out. When she slept, the darkness behind her eyes reminded her of night. She was ready to sleep.

The owl flew up to her perch in the oak tree. Wrapping her grey feathers about her, she whispered good night to her beloved rooster and closed her eyes.

The rooster hadn’t fully fallen back to sleep. He was tired, but his mind was full of thoughts about the owl, about the hens and about life in general. He heard the owl whisper good night. It was day though. He needed to get up and go about his day. Outside the sun was setting the edge of the fields ablaze. He went outside to the morning. He loved the sun. Almost as much as he loved the owl, he thought.

His was the most important job on the farm. Aside from herding the hens, the rooster was in charge of greeting the day. He was a call to action. If he yelled as loud as he could each morning, the sun would wake up and cast its light on the farm. The animals would wake up. The farmer would wake also. Without him, the world would stay dark. That was his job and he was proud.

So with a large intake of air, the rooster did what he did best. He let out a big “CoooohhhhCohhh
RiiiiCoooohh!” It was so loud, it pierced the sky, echoing in the distant hills and shaking the sun from its sleep. His was the most important job of all. “CoooohhhCohhhRiiiiCoooohhhh!!” He repeated. He could hear the pigs and cows and horses stirring. “CooooohhhCoooo….”

“Shut up!”

The rooster was cut off mid cockle. He looked up in the tree where the owl was sleeping. Her eyes were squinting at him, trying to keep the light out. Stop making so much noise. I’m sleeping,” she said.

“Sorry baby.” Said the rooster. “I love you you know. You’re so beautiful when you sleep.”

“Rooster, I said be quiet. Just let me sleep.”

The rooster looked down at his feet and the shadow he cast from the sun. He was really tired but he had a job to do. He turned again to the rooster, blood still dripped from her talons.

“Have a good sleep my love,” he whispered as he turned and strutted to the chicken coups to wake the lazy hens.