rejectomorph | Weather Report with Owl and then No Owl

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The owl chose a nearby tree for its perch tonight. Hours passed, while the steady rain fell, damp drumming accented by periodic hoots which came clear and strong. Wet pine boughs glimmered, their twists and angles dark glyphs marking the dim sky. Invisible, the waning moon rose, and the clouds blanched. Rain diminished, the drops shrinking to become mist, soft, yet sharp with cold. No flutter of wings came, yet the owl departed. The mist was silent, yet the drumming continued as the trees shed their burden of water. Clouds, though lightened by the rainfall, then settled and became fog, concealing rank after rank of trees, until the world was reduced to a shadowy room, pale-domed, its walls mottled with dark shapes which might once have been depictions of scenes now lost forever, remnants of works crafted by long-dead hands. The world had dissolved, the night had folded upon itself. The absence of the owl became as sharp as the icy drops of mist.