50 Word Stories: The Eyrie

We lived overlooking a valley of patchwork greens and threads of interlacing brown. Occasionally, creatures moved along these threads like ants over an anthill or fish through a muddied stream. I watched them as they often watched me. The bang one made confused, until I fell, my jigsaw view broken.


 There was a chill in the wood. Ice crept over and along the gnarled bark of the oak trees, creaking a slow passage. Acorns hung from glacial branches, glistening adornments to the wood’s mighty guardians.
 The owl didn’t give a hoot.
 Snow began to fall across the countryside. So delicately applied coating was it that even a master confectioner would have approved of the effect. The oaks stood cold but proud in their new porcelain finery.
 The owl didn’t give a hoot.
 A little mouse braved this brand new winter world. He’d never seen the snow before. He thought it beautiful, so pretty, everything sparkled. The wood was so peaceful, so quiet in his last moments of that silent night. That’s because…
 The owl didn’t give a hoot.

 (Image courtesy inspirednatureprints.com)