The Christmas Owl

One night,
on her long journey south,
the tiniest of owls,
a Northern Saw-whet, 
stops
in a forest of black, wild spruces.

Under icy stars,
tucked in close,
the tired little owl
sings her song.
Too-too-too. 

In a city far away,
a child, Charlotte, 
wanders
through her family’s old and quiet barn,
bringing blankets and hay
to the animals. 

Under icy stars,
tucking them in close,
Charlotte murmurs,
“When will Christmas come?”   

The next day,
in the cold, quiet forest,
trucks arrive,
with men and axes,
to size the trees.

They spy a beautiful spruce,
and cut it down.
Too-too-too, cries the Saw-whet.
She is trapped inside. 

The next day,
in the cold, quiet barn,
Charlotte braids an old mare’s mane.
“Is it today?” she asks her mother.
“Not today.”
“But when?”
“Soon.”

To reach the city,
the truck with the tree
bumps down long, rough roads,
and rumbles
along steep and winding highways.
The owl in the tree
trembles.
Too-too-too.

During the long, cold days,
Charlotte places feed outside
for the forgotten fawns
and starving foxes.
Looking at the stars,
she tries to be patient.
When will it be Christmas?

The spruce arrives
in the city center,
heralded by horns and trumpets.
Workers set the trunk,
and dress the magnificent branches
until it is  

A
–dorned,
tip—to—toe
in twinkling lights,
and ribbons and ball–
s

Racing to the city center,
Charlotte cheers at the twinkling lights,
marvels at the blue,
and gold, and silver.
“It is Christmas!”

“Not exactly,” says her mother.
Her father scratches his head.
“Christmas is about more…
or rather, less.” 

But around Charlotte,
the crowd insists:      

O–
h my. How
beautiful. How
lovely. It must be 
Christmas now! Yes,
Yes. It is Christmas, no–
w!

Hidden among the branches,
the trembling little Saw-whet tries to sing.
Too-too-too.
Nobody hears.

Too-too-too! She tries again.

Until finally, 
Charlotte,
with eager ears and open eyes,
cries, “Look!”

And the city does. Look!
Newspapers trumpet the news. An owl! A miracle!
Satellites announce the event. Will the owl live?

For one long moment,
Charlotte,
and the city,
and the world
hold their breath,
wondering at the magic of a forest,
the quiet of a first snow,
and the strength of the weakest
among us. 

Finally, when the little Saw-whet
can spread her speckled wings
Again,
she soars on,
to the next spruce forest in her journey.

“Now, do you understand?” Charlotte’s father asks.
Yes. She smiles. Yes.
Now, it’s Christmas.

---

Love this Christmas poem? We think you’ll love these other heart-warming Christmas stories, poems, and narratives.

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