It was nearly 4:00 A.M., but Paquito was wide awake. “Too-too-too,” he cried the signature call of the Northern Saw-Whet owl, Aegolius acadius. He listened as the echo of his recorder-like song bounced back through the trees.
The whole forest was humming with excitement. It was December 20, one day before Yule. A thick layer of snow covered the underbrush. Paquito was eager for the birth of the new sun. As it lengthened the days, his prey would become fat and easy to catch.
The first rays of light coming over the horizon startled Paquito out of his fantasy.
Realizing how tired he was from his night of hunting mice, he tucked his beak into his downy chest feathers and closed his eyes.
A strange sound startled Paquito awake. Last he remembered, he was in his favorite pine tree in the thick woods of southern Wisconsin. Now, the woods were gone, replaced by concrete, glass, and humans. Again, the sound broke through the humans’ off-key singing.
Paquito angled his head down to look at the noisy animal. A wolf-like creature looked back at him. This time, Paquito recognized it as a hostile bark. Taking a risk, he flew into the air above the crowd, escaping the predator. The humans watched him in surprised silence.
Paquito perched on a building to get a better look at his location. He turned his head 270° and saw a tall black building with antennae on top. Oh! I’m in Chicago! Paquito thought. The migratory birds had told him about this building and city, but they mostly talked about the food humans dropped. He looked back at his tree. It was covered in flashing lights and dried orange slice decorations. Paquito had learned this was how humans celebrated Yule. He was mad at these humans. They had dug up his tree and moved it to another state, without even consulting him first!
Sad to lose his favorite tree but realizing it would be hard to survive in this human habitat, Paquito decided to fly home to his forest. The humans could take care of his tree. It seemed like they could be trusted. They hadn’t chopped down the tree. They were watering it. Maybe they would replant it after their holiday celebrations. That night, flying over downtown Chicago, black light spilled out of a window illuminating him. He turned his head to the side, shielding his tube-shaped eyes and watched as the porphyrin pigment in his wings lit up pink. Paquito turned his head back too soon and was momentarily blinded. He reached out his zygodactyl feet, grabbing onto a scaffold rail before he crashed. He perched there for a moment to regain his bearings.
Locating the direction of home using Earth’s magnetic field, Paquito launched himself back into the starry sky. He flew over neighborhoods, prairies, hills, and lakes before arriving home. He perched on the highest branch of his second favorite tree to watch the weak newborn sun climb the sky.
Story and illustration by Amelie
