Owl Moon月下看猫头鹰

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Owl Moon

It was late one winter night, long past my bedtime,

when Pa and I went owling.

There was no wind.

The trees stood still as giant statues.

And the moon was so bright the sky seemed to shine.

Somewhere behind us a train whistle blew, long and low,

like a sad, sad song

I could hear it through the woolen cap Pa had pulled down over my ears.

A farm dog answered the train, and then a second dog joined in.

They sang out, trains and dogs, for a real long time.

And when their voices faded away it was as quiet as a dream.

We walked on toward the woods, Pa and I.

Our feet crunched over the crisp snow and little gray footprints followed us.

Pa made a long shadow, but my was short and round.

I had to run after him every now and then to keep up,

and my short, round shadow bumped after me.

But I never called out. If you go owling you have to be quiet,

that’s what Pa always says.

I have been waiting to go owling with Pa for a long, long time.

We reach the line of pine trees, black and pointy against the sky,

and Pa held up his hand.

I stopped up where I was and waited.

He looked up, as if searching the stars, as if reading a map up there.

The moon made his face into a silver mask.

Then he called:

”Whoo-whoo-who-who-whooo-” the sound of a Great Homed

Owl”Whoo-whoo-who-who-whooo-”.

Again he called out. And then again.

After each call he was silent and for a moment we both listened.

But there was no answer.

Pa shrugged and I shrugged.

I was not disappointed.

My brothers all said sometimes there's an owl and sometimes there isn't.

We walked on, I could feel the cold,

as if someone's icy hand was palm-down on my back.

And my nose and the tops of my cheeks felt cold and hot at the same time.

But I never said a word.

If you go owling you have to be quiet and make your own heat.

We went into the woods.

The shadows were the blackest things I had ever seen.

They stained the white snow.

My mouth felt furry, for the scarf over it was wet and warm.

I didn't ask what kinds of things hide behind black trees

in the middle of the night.

When you go owling you have to be brave.

Then we came to a clearing in the dark woods.

The moon was high above us.

It seemed to fit exactly over the center of the clearing and the snow below it was whiter than the milk in a cereal bowl.

I sighed and Pa held up his hand at the sound.

I put my mittens over the scarf over my mouth and listened hard.

And then Pa called:"Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo.Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo."

I listened and looked so hard my ears hurt and my eyes got cloudy with the cold.

Pa raised his face to call out again, but before he could open his mouth an echo came threading its way through the trees.

"Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo."

Pa almost smiled.

Then he called back:

"Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo."

just as if he and the owl were talking about supper or

about the woods or the moon or the cold.

I took my mitten off the scarf off my mouth, and I almost smiled, too.

The owl's call came closer, from high up in the trees

on the edge of the meadow.

Nothing in the meadow moved.

All of a sudden an owl shadow, part of the big tree shadow,

lifted off and flew right over us.

We watched silently with heat in our mouths,

the heat of all those words we had not spoken.

The shadow hooted again.

Pa turned on his big flashlight and caught the owl

just as it was landing on a branch.

For one minute, three minutes, maybe even a hundred minutes,

we stared at one another.

Then the owl pumped its great wings and

lifted off the branch like a shadow without sound.

It flew back into the forest.

"Time to go home,"Pa said to me.

I knew then I could talk, I could even laugh out loud.

But I was a shadow as we walked home.

When you go owling you don't need words

or warm or anything but hope.

That's what Pa says.

The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining Owl Moon.

月下看猫头鹰

在一个冬天的晚上，我跟爸爸出去看猫头鹰，那时候已经三更半夜了，

我们一直都没睡觉。

外面没有风，那些大树直挺挺地站着，像一座座高高大大的雕像。

月光皎洁。

背后远远传来火车的汽笛声，笛音低沉却拉得很长，就像一首歌，

听起来好忧伤好忧伤。

爸爸把我的毛线帽拉低，盖住我的耳朵。

但是隔着帽子我还是听得到声音，农场里的一条狗跟着汽笛叫了起来，

接着第二条狗也叫了。

火车和狗齐声唱歌，唱了好一阵子。

闹声消失以后，四周静极了，就像在梦里。

爸爸还有我一直向树林走去。

我们“沙沙沙”地踩着松脆的雪，留下小小的灰色脚印。

地上拖着爸爸长长的影子，我的影子却又短又圆。

隔不多久，我就得奔跑几步才能跟得上爸爸，我那又短又圆的影子，

也跟着我跌跌撞撞。

但是我没喊累，出去看猫头鹰就得保持安静，爸爸就是这么说的。

我盼望跟着爸爸一起去看猫头鹰，已经盼望好久好久了。

我们走到了松林地带，在明亮的月色里，

一棵棵的松树看起来黑黑的尖尖的，爸爸举手做了个手势。

我立刻收住脚步。

站在原地等着爸爸向上看，好像要找天上的星星，

又像在查看空中的一张地图。

月光使他的脸像是戴上了银色的假面具。

他开始呼叫起来，学的是大角猫头鹰的叫声。

他叫了一阵又一阵。

每叫过一次他就会停一会儿，我们两个都竖起耳朵，细细地听一会儿。

但是什么也没听到。

爸爸耸耸肩膀，我也耸耸肩膀。

我并不难过。

我的几个哥哥都说过，猫头鹰是有时候出现有时候不出现的。

我们再往前走，我感觉到天气的寒冷，

就像有人用冰冷的手掌按在我的背上。

鼻子上、面颊上，里热外冷，冻得发疼。

但是我一句抱怨的话也没说。

出来看猫头鹰一定要安静一定要坚强。

我们走进了树林。

那些树影比我见过的任何东西都要阴暗。

遮掩了地上的白雪。

蒙在我嘴上的围巾，温温的湿湿的。

深更半夜会不会有什么东西躲在黑黑的大树背后呢，我问都没问。

出来看猫头鹰一定要勇敢。

我们来到了黑森林中的空地。

月亮高高挂在天空。

月光就像对准着空地上的中央照下来，

月光下的雪看起来比瓷碗里的牛奶还要白。

“呵——”我喘着大气，爸爸听见了做手势叫我别出声。

我赶紧用手套捂住自己的嘴，我用心地听。

爸爸又开始呼叫了起来。

我全神贯注地听着看着，在这冷空气中，听得耳朵发疼，

看得双眼蒙上一层雾。

爸爸仰起了脸打算再呼叫一次，但是他还没开口，

就有猫头鹰回应的声音穿过树丛传了过来。

爸爸脸上有了笑意。

他又回应了一声，然后他跟猫头鹰就像在那儿谈天，

谈起了晚餐、树林、月亮和寒冷的天气。

我松开了捂住嘴的手套，开心得想笑出来。

从草地边缘树丛上面传来的猫头鹰的叫声越来越近了。

草地上却没有一点儿动静。

忽然间一个猫头鹰的影子，从地上的大树影里分离开，

向着我们的头顶这边飞过来。

我们看着，嘴里发热却不出声，许多想说的话一句也没说。

飞过来的黑影又发出了叫声。

爸爸开亮了他的大手电筒，正好照在那只刚要停落在树枝上的猫头鹰。

我们跟那只猫头鹰，我看你，你看我，看了一分钟、三分钟，

或者足足看了一百分钟也说不定。

后来那只猫头鹰就扇动它的大翅膀从树枝上飞开了，

像一道无声无息的黑影。

它飞回树林里去了。

“该回家了。”爸爸对我说。

我知道我可以说话了，也可以放声地笑了。

但是在回家的路上，我却一声不响像一道影子。

出去看猫头鹰不需要说话，不需要温暖舒适，也不需要别的什么，

只要心中有一个希望。.

爸爸是这么说的。

那个希望会用没有声音的翅膀，在看猫头鹰时的皎洁月光下，向前飞行。