Just in Time

"Why is that bird staring at me?"

        "What bird?"

"The one in the trees."

"There are a lot of trees out there."

Which was true. They were in a cabin in the woods--A hovel, he had said.

A rustic retreat, she had said, and held up her phone. "Look at the descriptions again. 'Retreat to the tall woods to find beauty, discover nature, and rest in the calm and mystery of nature.' So the bird is part of 'the calm and mystery of nature.'"

"Mystery just about says it. I think that bird knows me, knows something about me."

She got up then, and stood beside him at the window. "I don't see a bird."

"I told you. In the tree." He put one long arm around her, pressed his head to hers, so they were facing the same way. "There," he said. "The bird with the big eyes."

"Big eyes? Must be an owl," she said, willing to play along even though she saw only a shaggy willow bereft of visible wild life.

"Oh," he said. "That's it! A wise old owl. I should have known. Look at those eyes, how still the bird is, penetrating, almost freaky."

"No," she said, "Wise like you. That's why she's staring at you."

"How do you know it's female?"

"Ah," she said, "because she's seen you, and can't look away. Women know these things."

"You're making this up," he said.

"I don't have to," she said. "You started with the imaginary owl."

"You don't see it, do you?"

What a question. Well, no she didn't see an owl, imaginary or real, because the timer was dinging, the three-minute eggs well on their way to hard boil. "No," she said, "but the timer..."

"Look up," he shouted.

And she did look, just in time to see the bird, a giant bird, rise out of the old willow as if being released--or reborn--into another day.

"Oh!" she said. "Oh, look at that!"

"Worth a hard boiled egg?" he said.

And it was, even though he was right, again.