Just recently a huge semi came barreling down our sleepy little street and nocked off half of a large limb that was growing over the street from a tree in our front yard. We were devastated for our poor tree, and still hoping that it won't get sick. It's tall and thick and it's been a constant image in my life. I don't know how many times I've sat in the swing that hangs from it's branches or in the hammock on the other side. When I was younger, I built fairy houses among the roots, collected moss, even buried acorns under it to pretend that I was getting ready for the long winter months. I was never able to dig them back up again, later. When we came home to comfort our tree, just as we were standing underneath the limb that broke, a little bird swooped down in total silence and landed directly above us. As it looked down at us we realized it was an Eastern Screech Owl, sitting directly above our heads, on an arm of the amputated limb. My mom and I froze as if our feet had grown roots and stared up at the bird. After a few minutes of watching us it flew away on wings that seemed too large for such a small body. We firmly believe that the little owl had come back to make sure it's tree would be ok, and maybe to comfort us, too. It's moments like that, when something bigger that you convenes, and you realize that hope is in sight is what makes life wonderful. And that night, hope flew in and perched above our heads.