How do the owls know so much?
Well, I’ll tell you.
The owls, they sit in the trees and as they do the trees whisper through their leaves the secrets of the world. And the owls spin their heads and hoot “woah!” And then they fluff up their feathers, that are now so full of knowledge, puff out their chests and fly off out into the night, hooting out everything that they’ve found out to be right.
And the trees, they sigh in the breeze, yet another flighty friend has taken off again, they harden their bark, they will not cry over this again. But their leaves descend in showers, everyone can see them track their way down to the ground, but no one says anything. No words of console for those weeping willows. The people and animals rush by in their busy lives, ignoring the pain in that arc that shelters them from the rain.
But the trees, they remind themselves that it’s ok. One day those below will all be gone and they’ll be the last ones standing at the end of the day.