If I had known that the owl who woke me up hooting outside my window at 7:00 this morning was merely warning me of the apocalyptical storm approaching, I wouldn’t have pulled back the curtain and shouted, “Fuck you, owl!” Instead, I would have hurried up and gotten to the safe cover of my office. But no, I didn’t trust the owl. I assumed the owl was just out for himself, hooting just to hear his own hoot with no concern for the people around him. And I shouted, “Fuck you, owl!” and scared him away and went back to sleep, waking up late and getting off to work late, precisely late enough to trap myself in the apocalyptical storm of which, unwittingly to me, the owl warned. Now my socks are soaked through and my pants are wet up to the knee. I am cold and there are no hand dryers in the bathrooms. And I have no one to blame for my discomfort but myself for not heeding the prophetic “hooooo.”
I’d like to believe it was him, looking down on me.