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You’re standing just inside the screen door to your kitchen, looking out at the sky. The sun has just set, in a brilliant array of orange and pink and red. Now, the sky has turned purple, and the stars have yet to come out. The moon is a glowing, full disk—it’s big and round tonight. It’s the night of the full Hunter’s Moon, and while it’s autumn, it’s not yet cold out, the last strains of summer still holding tight.
You’ve been told that on the night of the Hunter’s Moon, during your thirtieth year, if you go into the woods and search for a magical owl. The owl will guide you to her home, where she will tell you her story. You’ve been waiting for this night for a long time, ever since your grandmother told you, back when you were young.
You constantly begged her to tell you what the owl told her, but she always refused. She said that it wasn’t her story to tell and that you would have to go to the owl yourself.
It’s your thirtieth year, and you’re full of anticipation. It’s the night that you’ve been waiting for nearly three decades. You’ve dressed in a pair of rubber boots, a dark-colored shirt, and pants. You have nothing with you. Nothing that will distract the owl, while she tells you her story.
As the twilight turns to a deep royal blue, you open the screen door, and step outside, watching as the stars finally begin to come out. You’re going out to look for the owl.
Your boots thump in the grass. All around you, the fireflies have begun to come out. They blink at different times periodically. The air is warm and quickly cooling off. The day was warm, and it will take a while yet for the land to lose its heat.
You begin to take a walk, down across your gently sloping lawn. At the end of the yard, there’s a wooden fence. On the other side, the horses are grazing. They’re calm, large animals, who regard you with their large eyes. One of the horses breathes out through its nostrils. There’s no animal so calm and pensive as a horse.
You begin to walk along the fence line. As you go, you look up at the moon and stars above you. They glow with a brilliant golden light. Clouds, thick and puffy, are rolling slowly past the moon. For a brief moment, the moon is blocked out, and then, it returns, only to be blocked out again.
You continue your walk along the fence line, heading towards the woods. When you look behind you, you can see your house—the kitchen window is lit, emanating light, and the promise of normalcy. Home will still be there when you return from your journey. This is something that you must do.
Turn back toward the woods. You know these woods well, about as well as you know the lines traced across the palm of your hand. When you reach the end of the fence line, you can see a small dirt path, leading into the woods. The night around you is filled with the sounds of the spring peepers— tiny frogs who are calling out to each other in small, peeping voices.
As you enter the woods, take a deep breath, smelling the scent of the trees, and the loamy smell of the mud. There’s a pond, just inside of the tree line. The thick underbrush surrounds it. The water is still. An errant leaf falls from one of the branches, spinning in circles until it lands at the very center of the pond. Ripples form, slowly widening on the still pond.
Continue to stand at the very entrance of the woods and wait. The owl will come for you, just as your grandmother said. All around you, the woods are silent, waiting and watching with you. You are filled with excitement. All of your life, you’ve looked for magic. You know that it’s there, somewhere, in the space beneath the edges of our world. You’ve always believed that the owl’s story would reveal the way to access that magic. Tonight feels like a beginning for you.
Over your head, there is the flap of large wings. You look up in time to see the owl that has arrived. Your hands shake with excitement. The feeling of anticipation sits in the bottom of your belly.
She makes a soft, cooing noise. You can see her eyes, glinting brightly in the darkness. It’s as though she’s asking you why you’re here, in her woods. So, you tell her that you’ve come to hear her story if she would tell you.
She seems to nod, then flaps her wings, kicking off and back into the sky. She’s leading you farther into the woods. You’re stumbling through the underbrush. It would all be much easier if you had wings, as well. The owl keeps a watchful eye on you waiting when necessary for you to catch up to her.
You follow the soft path through the dark woods. As you walk, you step on a twig, hearing it snap beneath your feet.
A soft wing brushes against your cheek as a moth flutters past. It is small and dark, and you cannot tell what kind it is.
The owl is patient, waiting for you to follow her. She seems to be in no rush. After all, if this is the same owl who told her story to your mother and your grandmother, then she’s been here for a very long time.
As you pass through the woods, you encounter a family of deer. They freeze, observing you as you pass by them. After all, there is room for all of you here. They do not run away but instead lower their heads to continue their nightly grazing.
The owl circles you, flapping overhead. She wants you to continue walking. As you follow her through the woods, you notice that they are alive and crowded. You’re not the only visitor to the woods this evening. As you follow the owl, you see that you’re headed towards the very center of the woods.
The path is long and winding, even though the dirt on it is soft. You continue on your way. The owl flies ahead, waiting for you in the branches of a tree. When you near, she takes off again, flying just enough ahead so that you are never out of sight. In the darkness of the woods, there are fireflies, lighting the way. The trees at the center of the woods are old. They have been there for longer than you have drawn breath.
It feels closer here. Memory and time do not matter—these trees have stood for centuries, and they will stand for many centuries more. You are merely a visitor, your time as fleeting as the fireflies. Here for a moment, and then gone.
The owl lands, waiting for you, watching with big eyes.
On the other side of the woods, there is a circular glade. There’s a stone circle, which looks like it sometimes holds fires. Beside it, there is a stone bench, which looks as though it was carved a long time ago. Walk up to it, run your fingers over the soft, porous material of the soapstone.
You have reached your destination, and you take a seat, waiting patiently. The owl changes into a tall woman, dressed in black robes. She has long, flowing dark hair. Her skin is tawny, like the owl. Her eyes are a brilliant, glowing golden. She has a cape of soft, gray feathers over her shoulders. From her neck, there is a golden medallion on a chain. At its center, there is an amber stone. Her features are proud and perfect. Even if you hadn’t seen her shift from an owl, you would have suspected that she and the bird were the same.
As you sit, watching her, she walks over and takes a seat beside you on the stone bench.
She asks you why you’ve come here. You tell her that you’ve come to hear her story. She asks you if you’ve brought her payment, and you remove one, single red berry from your pocket and hand it to her. She accepts it gladly, slipping it into a pocket on the inside of her feathered cape.
She’s silent for a few moments as she gathers her thoughts.
You’re looking at her proud profile, in the darkness. She stares out, at the safeness of the trees. It’s like she’s looking out, waiting for something to appear. “Look,” she says, and you turn to regard what she’s talking about.
All around you, the glade begins to lighten, as though the sun is rising. The light reveals fruit trees. The light glistens on the droplets, glittering. This is where true knowledge begins.
“Once, long ago,” she begins. As she tells her story, you can see the players, there in the glade, as though the spell of her voice has conjured them. “There was a man.”
“He fell in love with a woman, who was as tall and proud as an oak tree.”
The man and the woman appear before you. The woman is a twin of the woman that the owl becomes when in human form. They’re both dressed in the same simple white clothing. On their heads, there are crowns, woven from flowers. All around them, birds are flying through the trees.
“He loved her, but he didn’t understand her. He offered her everything that he thought she wanted. A house with a large kitchen. Children, running through the hallways. A garden where she could grow fresh vegetables. What she wanted, however, was to be free.”
“She wanted a dragon. She wanted a sword. She wanted to be in control of her own destiny. She wanted to be her own ruler and not to be ruled by a man.”
“So, she refused him.” Before you, the man is on his knees, while the woman folds her arms, shaking her head.
“Why have you refused me? he asked, not able to believe it.”
“I don’t want the things that you’ve offered me, she replied honestly.”
“What is it that you want? He asked. I will give you anything.”
“In exchange for my servitude? she asked because she knew that he didn’t know the difference between love and labor.”
“In exchange for your love, he said.”
“I want the wild woods, to be my own. I want a set of wings, and I want to be able to be freed of my earthly shackles at my choosing. Until I have that, I cannot love you.”
“So, the man made his way to the wise witch, who lived at the edge of the woods. He told her what he needed.”
In the tableau, the man knocks on the door to a tiny fairytale cottage in the woods. The door opens, and the witch nods her head as the man tells her of his need. He wildly gestures as he speaks.
“She said that she could give him his request, but she needed five golden coins. He agreed, handing them over. There was nothing that he wouldn’t sacrifice in his pursuit of the woman. There was no length to which he wouldn’t go. The witch returned with him. She turned the woman into an owl, and the woman flew away.”
As you watch the tableau, the woman turns into an owl, flying into the sky. The man falls to his knees as he begs her to return, to no avail. The witch turns away from him, cupping the golden coins in her hands as she returns to her fairytale cottage in the woods.
“While she did love the man in exchange for her freedom, she would never be with him. That was never part of the agreement. While she lived a long, full life, the man returned to his home, alone, where he wasted away with grief. He could never understand her, and thus, he could have never possessed her in the way that he wanted. While he believed that he loved her, in truth, he only loved the idea of her.”
“What happened?” you ask.
“He died a very long time ago,” she says. As you watch, the figure of the man grows old, and then falls from the chair where he sits. His body lays still on the ground, until it vanishes, sinking into the dirt.
“And the woman? What happened to her?” you ask, even though you know she’s sitting beside you, as real as you are.
“She persisted,” she says. She’s smiling mysteriously. You know the true ending of the story. In the tableau, the owl lands on one of the trees. She shifts into the woman, who’s smiling. She’s now dressed in the same garb as the woman beside you.
The two of you sit silently beside each other, watching as the tableau fades away to the darkness of the forest.
“It was the happiest ending,” the woman says. “I would have died if it had ended otherwise.”
You thank her for telling you her story. It doesn’t hold the answers to which you sought. It tells you nothing of magic and its inner workings. However, it did tell you that it exists. And that to embrace it, you must trust yourself, and to embrace your freedom.
You ask her about the witch, and where you can find her.
“You are the witch,” she says. “Your family has been for generations. Beginning in the thirtieth year, you come to me. Whatever you do after is up to you.”
Magic is a series of questions; you discern. No matter how long you search, there will always be more to figure out.
“It’s time for you to go back, now,” she says. “I can show you the way.”
You nod your head. After all, you don’t want to get lost in the woods, and your home awaits your safe return.
She changes back into an owl, her long wings flapping as she takes to the air. You follow after her, back through the woods. They’re silent now. All of the animals have gone quiet. The owl leads you along the soft path. The family of deer watches you as you pass them. You can feel them, thinking calm thoughts.
When you reach the end of the forest, the owl lands in the branches of a tree. From where you stand, you can see the fence that surrounds the field. When you glance back at the owl, she’s watching calmly. She’s watching over you, protecting you as you make your way back home.
As you pass them, the horses glance up, snuffling. Recognizing you, they return their attention to the grass. As you near the house, the sounds of the spring peepers startup. The kitchen is still lit by the lamp that you left on.
Pull open your screen door and let yourself inside. As you look around, you find yourself back inside of your own, familiar life. The floor that you keep clean, the table, which is covered in a soft red and white checkered cloth, and the pie that you made earlier. The coffeepot. Open the drawer, the one which your grandmother told you not to look inside. When you open the drawer, you’re wrapped in the scent of rose petals and old paper.
Inside the drawer, a large old book sits, untouched. Wipe off the thick layer of dust that sits on the cover, revealing the title, in gold leaf. This is your family’s spell book, passed on from one generation to the next, for centuries. Now that you’ve come into your own, it’s time for you to learn the secrets of your craft.
Pick the book up, cradling it in your arms as you carry it over to the kitchen table—the same one where your grandmother would sit with you, telling you stories. Stories which you now know carried kernels of the truth.
