The owl sees everything.
It watches when the young man brings his son into the barn on his shoulders, introduces him to each animal by name.
It regards the expression on the boy’s face when he gets old enough to come in here and hide from the other children who don’t understand why he’s so quiet.
It turns its head as the adolescent counts how many times he strokes the horse’s bare back.
Its unblinking eyes take in the vacant expression of the silent man when he comes into the stable and falls to his knees sobbing.
The owl knows.
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