The softest cloud of silky feathers. Those tiny yellow eyes that camouflage as big. The wings of plume that tickle every square millimetre of your skin. Like an illusive lover she curves her body onto yours, leaving a thin shadow of herself. The nature taught her how to be almighty quiet. Silent and invisible.
You’re sleeping. And only claws that dig into your flesh like mighty words will wake you up. To leave you with a mark and single feather. Something to remember her by. Tickled pink.
– Chatty Owl has left the building –