Sheer Love

Taylor gardened while his wife and kids slept. The quiet morning hours seemed to be the only time these days he could find for this solitary pleasure. He had just finished weeding his last plant bed when an owl, one bigger than he’d ever seen, swooped in and stole his shears.

Shears, like Bears’ Ears, left his hand like the national park land, somewhere in the Southwest, maybe Utah?, tribal land that was stolen then returned then stolen again, lost in thought, the shears landed, back in his hands, only to fly away again.

As the shears fluttered back and forth from his fingers to the sky, he started humming. The melody poured out of him—invented but oddly familiar, like it was already printed in his DNA. Suddenly the shears shot up and flew due north with incredible speed. “Wait!” he shouted.

Leaves settled on the lawn. "Where are my finishing scissors?" He looked around frantically. The scissors, imported from southern Italy, were his favorite, and without it he feared he would deliver a less-than-perfect result. Then he saw shiny sparkle from below a nearby hedge.

As any hedge aficionado knows, the only acceptable finishing scissors hail from Italy. If you're really in tune with your craft, you buy from the southern region exclusively. He bought this particular pair for $15,000. A drop in the bucket, with what he'd be making from this job.

In a good year Taylor wouldn't have been able to afford losing something worth $15,000 and this was most certainly not a good year. Without much thought he picked up his hunting bow and went looking for owl.

"Who cares" Taylor thought. With all the world burning, maybe money and its attachments, like debt collectors, will cease to exist. Or matter. But this owl, this owl will matter. He took aim.

Taylor took a deep breath, focused, and the owl dropped from the sky. He looked down. The shears were still in his hands. He scanned the horizon. Nothing. Whatever felled the owl sprung directly from his mind.

He stared at his shears with horror. That noble creature did not deserve this untimely end. He sobbed, first softly then loudly. The neighbors next door noticed and came over. They saw the felled owl on the ground.

"Fear not," said one neighbor. "I can fix this owl." He darted for his home and reappeared in a flash. With him he had a lady owl of the same genus. "True love's kiss will rehabilitate him." The buxom lady owl leaned over her fallen compatriot, and with a kiss he bolted to life.