A wind, with no true destination in mind, sweeps through the valley. It blunders from the mountains’ slopes – an oncoming storm of brisk gusts, seething clouds, and stinging snowflakes arrives earlier than predicted.
Each brick home shudders and every overwrought chimney puffs a thin stream of white smoke and fragile ash. The storm carries the scent of burning wood to the next roof until it dissipates, unable to fight the elements.
A white owl speckled with grey swoops and dodges the gale. Every feather from his sturdy wings is caressed by frigid temperatures, and his keen eyes burn as the blizzard pummels. When the cold is too much, the owl tucks in flight for a moment of body warmth, and plunges to the ground. Before the owl is greeted with sure death, he spreads his wings wide once more, and soars back to the sky.
Despite the rage of weather, the animal hoots with exhilaration. It is not often he’s tested in strength and determination, aside from the cunning hunt of his next meal.
The storm is the ultimate test of his very creation, and when he finds the cover of a tree, absent another animal, he perches his feet along a branch’s bark and grasps tight. His heart pounds and euphoria pumps through his veins. It is not every day a simple owl can conquer nature’s best and live to enjoy it.
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