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Owl Moon By: Jane Yolen 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 mine 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, thats what Pa always says. I had been waiting to go owling with Pa for a long, long time. We reached the line of pine trees, black and pointy against the sky, and Pa help up his hand. I stopped right 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- who-whooooooo, the sound of a Great Horned Owl. Whoo-whoo-who-who- who-whooooooo, 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 theres an owl and sometimes there isnt. We walked on. I could feel the cold, as if someones 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 thi