Poe and the Whispering Canopy

At Shamrock Hollow Farms, while the stars blinked sleepily in the sky, a cat named Poe sat perched on the windowsill. His fur, black as midnight, shimmered under the moonlight. He was supposed to be dreaming of buttered toast and sun-drenched naps, but something stirred in his chest—a tug, soft and secret, calling him to the woods beyond the pasture.

Without a sound, Poe hopped down, tail high with mischief, and padded through the silver grass toward the forest. The gate creaked gently behind him, as if warning: “Are you quite sure?”

The forest wasn’t the same forest he wandered during his morning walks. By night, it was transformed—each leaf seemed to hum with old magic, and the wind told stories Poe couldn’t quite understand.

He leapt, nimble and quiet, onto a low branch of towering oak and began to climb. Higher and higher, past sleeping squirrels and tangled vines. When he reached the canopy, the trees whispered to one another like gossiping grandmothers, and their branches formed bridges—gnarled, graceful walkways from tree to tree.

Poe tiptoed across them like a tightrope artist. The air smelled of moss and moonlight.

In the hollow of a birch, he spotted a woodpecker family, snuggled in a nest of twigs. Their tiny heads tucked under feathery wings, dreaming of soft bark and beetles.

From a crooked sycamore, a possum dangling—tail curled like a ribbon, eyes closed in upside-down slumber. Poe tilted his head. “Funny way to sleep,” he thought, trying not to giggle.

And then—two enormous golden eyes blinked in the dark.

It was an owl, ancient and wise, with feathers that looked like ash. Poe froze. The owl didn’t speak, but Poe felt its question whisper through the air: “Why do you wander so far from your nest, little one?”

Poe’s heart leapt. Maybe it was the mystery in the owl’s gaze, or the echo of the wind behind him—but he turned and dashed down the branches, back through the forest, paws barely touching ground.

He flew through the tall grass and scrambled back inside, curling up by the window once more. The moon smiled and tucked a cloud around itself like a blanket.

Poe whispered to the night, “I’ll go back again. One day.”

And the woods, still whispering, seemed to answer, “We’ll be waiting.”