The pieces from the black wooden shelf

The pieces from the black wooden shelf.

 


            
No matter what season or what time of the year it was, whether if it was a birthday or maybe new years eve, you could always see my grandma’s owls. Just right next to the entrance, the collection was there, standing still on the middle of her wooden black shelf. There where big owls and small owls, black owls as well as white ones, my favorite where the biggest ones. Never to be touched, never to be moved. She didn’t have any special kind of owls that she loved or liked more; she just loved them all the same. I’m sure she had a favorite one, but she never told us. Or at least I never heard if she had one. I’m curious about that. What was special about all the owls she had, is that the figures where from all around the world. Any place or anywhere you where, if you saw an owl, it would always be a special gift for her. But it definitely was a special gift if the owl was a rare or different piece she didn’t had. I can remember one day, giving her a plastic owl that I had gotten from those round chocolates, the ones they have a price inside. Once I grabbed one of his middle sized owls to play with, without grandma’s permission. And after playing with it, I was about to put it in her wooden black shelf, but something happened and accidentally the piece slipped out of my hand ending in the hard floor. Lonely in the ground, the pieces were standing. Of course the owl didn’t make it back, it was broken badly, no way it could be repaired. I decided to shut my mouth and never say a word. My grandmother knew something was missing, she knew exactly when her precious birds where moved and especially when one was missing. Lucky me, she never find out. I never knew why she loved them so much, perhaps they reminded her about her old days, or maybe because owls are free and beautiful animals. But I like to think that she loved them because they make her feel calm and peace, that when she stared at them she flew and travel anywhere she wanted. I know my grandmother is traveling now. 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A personal, but beautiful poem.

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