March 6, 2000: Mr. Poet and his forest
All was fine, until the nameless owl discovered he had an itch—a horrible itch just below his neck. It drove him crazy! So much so, he had to land early. It itched and itched and itched, driving the nameless owl into a faceless frenzy. What was he to do? One hand was already full. The nosey mole sat there doing nothing. No fighting, clawing or biting his way to safety. He sat inside the palms of the nameless owl just listening. Then I heard him whisper, “Put me in your mouth and scratch that itch away.” So, the nameless owl did just that. Not good! Or was it? The nosey mole had lived up to his name, discovering a new dark place to play. He dug and he dug, snooped and snooped…and hasn’t been seen ever since.