Saturday, January 18, 2014

Owl Moon

This was one of the first loved books in the Marlowe household.  It came in the mail when Madeleine and Henry were toddlers and our book collection was just starting out.  I have always loved the sparse poetic words, which I read slow and soft.

Jane Yolen
illustrated by John Schoenherr 1987

In our own backyard we have an owl, and sometimes late at night, in the tiny upstairs bathroom, you can hear it calling.  I can't explain it, but the sound of an owl, like a far-off train whistle, is at once the most melancholy and comforting of sounds.  In Owl Moon, a nameless father and daughter go out into the snowy woods.  It's cold and quiet while they are calling for an owl.

We walked on. 
I could feel the cold,
as if someone's icy hand
was palm-down on my back.
And my nose
and the tops of my cheeks 
felt cold and hot
at the same time.
But I never said a word.
If you go owling
you have to be quiet
and make your own heat. 












1 comment: