Premonition

 I am a leaf, dreaming of a January breeze that lifts me high above the trees, only to bring me back down to earth again. I am the night, rising between the moon and the sea, glittering with pearls. In my dream I am terrified, terrified and famished, fruits and pine nuts and grass and the dearly departed, nothing is left untouched. And in the final dream, I am Death. I am the beating of wings, obscuring the horizon, diamonds for eyes. My shadow flies high above the world, over the fields, above the stars, above my prey. Till I fall, and I see my shadow fade, and diminish, till it looks almost but not quite like me. And then I wake.

It is the same dream every night, and I am haunted. Haunted by the certainty that I have seen the end. And the end is in my dream, in one of my many forms. I can feel it in my bones, even as I wander these endless fields. It is a bright winter night, too bright. I know It is watching, and I know It is hungry. I remember when I first heard It scream, I was young, too young to even really understand when I saw Death take my mother into the sky, talons clasping her struggling form, a macabre silhouette against the rising moon. I had family to console me, but they could never prevent the inevitable. The dream began soon after.

We spend our whole lives waiting for that final shriek. A hundred of us in a field, and when Death calls we can do nothing but surrender to It. Secure in the knowledge that we cannot outrun It. Frozen in place, wondering if our turn has finally come. When will It choose us? When will I hear the beating of Its wings? I hear the scream most nights, when I am out looking for food, sometimes it is far away, and sometimes it is near. Except once, when the moon was hidden by the clouds, and the night was a strange shade of velvet, the fields were wet with rain, and our homes were flooded. I did not hear a shriek, and I did not hear the beating of wings, and I thought I saw a shadow, sheltering from the storm, deep within the hollow of an oak tree. That night I did not dream.

“There it is, look! ”, the elder birdwatcher gesticulated in the direction of the alder tree with his right hand, his left hand holding the night-vision binoculars through which he was gazing fixedly.

“I see it Dad, that is one good looking bird”, the younger birdwatcher remarked, after having spent a little while perusing the tree branches with his own pair of binoculars.

“And deadly, don’t forget, now watch, we may be in luck, maybe we’ve caught her before she’s had a chance to grab her dinner”

“It’s likely, we’ve been here since sunset. Speaking of dinner, I’m hungry. Let’s get a burger after this?”

“Sure, now watch, I think I saw her moving!”

“There she goes, what an incredibly pretty animal!”

“Majestic isn’t she, in full flight!”

“Oh wow that screech is terrifying! If I heard that outside my window late at night, I would probably leave the lights on. Definitely the stuff of nightmares.”

“There, there, she’s spotted something, she’s diving! ”

“Like lightning damn, and she’s already flying away with the poor thing. Is that a.. is it a mouse?”

“ A field mouse, or a vole, probably. Did you know voles have empathetic traits? Apparently they comfort each other when mistreated”

“Well, maybe the remaining voles will console each other. That poor thing. A bloodcurdling scream, and a second later it was all over”

“It’s just how it works Son. The barn owl needs to eat. That was a satisfying evening, we should go get some food. Pity we can’t hunt for it. “