The wise old owl lived in an oak.
He sat and watched it all. He watched the sun come out, drying up the rain and the spider climb up the spout again, and the girl, sitting on a tuffet eating her curds and whey. With a start, he heard the weasel pop. He watched as the old woman in the strange house give her children broth without bread at bed time.
The more he saw the less he spoke.
He looked down at the girl who had lost her sheep being told that she should leave them alone, and they’ll come home, wagging their tails behind them. He looked on as the butcher, baker and candlestick maker climbed into a tub. He saw the little boy who lives down a lane receive a bag of wool, while a good little boy clambered, soaking wet, out of a well having rescued a cat. As the boys came out to play, he saw one of them run away. He watched, as the clumsy boy went to bed and covered his head in vinegar and brown paper.
The less he spoke the more he heard.
He watched the boy jump over the candlestick, then spied the garden beyond, with silver bells and cockleshells and pretty maids all in a row. He saw the children on the village green dancing in a circle. After a great deal of sneezing, they all fell down. In the distance he could hear dogs; here a bow, there a wow, everywhere a bow-wow. He heard the boy passing underneath telling his friend how he’d once caught a fish alive. He saw the woman rush into the baker’s shop and give an urgent order for a cake, asking him to bake it as soon as possible. Eventually, as the sun slipped silently away, the first stars appeared above, so high, like diamonds in the sky. He was such a wise old bird!
We could all be like this wise old bird?