This week I invited a guest blogger to write for livetheordinarylife. She is a gifted writer; and I say that because she writes well, not because she is my daughter. Enjoy her post!
Midnight’s Game
by Kate Goodman
Silvery flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon.
The grey horned owl beat his wings majestically as he swooped down through the leftover, crumbling wheat-grass. His eyes: piercing, dull, and blank as if searching for someone to lead him through midnight’s game.
The owl's silhouette danced along the horizon's fiery collage of colors. The urge inside of him to hoot with the prowling wolves was tempting;, but if he wanted to catch a good supper, concentration was key.
The haunted night let loose its midnight fun as wolves declared their presence and a few timid grasshoppers hummed their symphony. Before long, the whole night was alive, from the rushing chills of the river to the wind asking the leaves to dance. With one giant leap, the leaves swirled and pirouetted across the night sky with the strong grasp of the wind to steady them.
Oh how the owl wanted to join the fun! But as free-spirited as he might be, he was waiting for a sound.
One rustle in the grass.
One little helpless squeak.
One hopeful mouse searching for adventure.
* * * * * *
The owl's wings beat at the wind, upsetting the night’s dance. The leaves fell from their partners and fluttered helplessly to the ground. The song of the symphony was sung, sadly in the distance.
Owl was not wanted.
But mouse was.
A soft, wet nose peeped out from under a mossy log. His ears were constantly twitching, trying to find a break in the dance … searching for danger. With one timid paw, he stepped out into the night’s game and hurried out into the whistling grass.
Was he looking for something in particular? Something to complete his day?
No.
There is always one drive that sends little mouse to his doom.
Curiosity.
He wanted the feeling of dancing in the night.
The owl chuckled from above. “Don’t you know, little mouse, what happens to those who dare to be curious?” He began as he dived in for a smooth landing.
The mouse’s oblivious eyes lit up with excitement as the leaves were escorted by their partners again, and swung into the next twirl. All was alive again, nothing seemed adrift.
* * * * * *
The leaves knew. They called desperately to the mouse, “Hide! Run!”
The wind howled in the distance, pulling apart the symphony. Grasshoppers chirped their warnings until all they could do was watch.
* * * * * *
All was silent. But at night, silence is the greatest warning.
“Stop, turn back!” Silence screamed.
But it was too late.
Curiosity killed the mouse.
