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 that 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 have 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 held up his hand. I stopped 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 things I had ever seen. They stained the white snow. My mouth felt furry， for the scarf over it was wet and warm. I didnt ask what kinds of things hide behind black trees in the middle of the night. When you go owling you have to be brave.

Then we came to a clearing in the dark woods. The moon was high above us. It seemed to fit exactly over the center of the clearing and the snow below it was whiter than the milk in a cereal bowl. I sighed and Pa held up his hand at the sound. I put my mittens over the scarf over my mouth and listened hard. And then Pa called： “Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo. Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo.”

I listened and looked so hard that my ears hurt and my eyes got cloudy with the cold. Pa raised his face to call out again， but before he could open his mouth an echo came threading its way through the trees. “Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo.”Pa almost smiled. Then he called back： “Whoo-whoo-who-who-who-whooooooo，” just as if he and the owl were talking about supper or about the woods or the moon or the cold. I took my mitten off the scarf off my mouth， and I almost smiled， too. The owls call came closer， from high up in the trees on the edge of the meadow. Nothing in the meadow moved. All of a sudden an owl shadow， part of the big tree shadow， lifted off and flew right over us. We watched silently with heat in our mouths， the heat of all those words we had not spoken. The shadow hooted again. Pa turned on his big flashlight and caught the owl just as it was landing on a branch. For one minute， three minutes， maybe even a hundred minutes， we stared at one another. Then the owl pumped its great wings and lifted off the branch like a shadow without sound. It flew back into the forest.

“Time to go home，” Pa said to me. I knew then I could talk and I could even laugh out loud. But I was a shadow as we walked home. When you go owling you dont need words or warm or anything but hope. Thats what Pa says. The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining Owl Moon.

那是一個冬天的深夜，早已過了我該上床睡覺的時間，爸爸帶著我去看貓頭鷹。外面一絲風也沒有，一棵棵樹像一座座巨型雕塑，靜靜聳立著。月光皎潔，似乎照亮了整片天空。在我們身后的某個地方，傳來一陣火車的汽笛聲，悠長而低沉，如一曲悲歌，令聽者傷懷。雖然爸爸早已將我的毛線帽拉下來蓋住了我的耳朵，但隔著帽子我還是能聽到那汽笛聲。農(nóng)場里的一只狗應著汽笛聲狂吠起來，接著，第二只狗也加入進來。汽笛聲與狗吠聲此起彼伏，著實持續(xù)了好一陣子。當所有這些聲音漸漸消退，四周一片靜謐，恍如夢境。

爸爸和我繼續(xù)朝樹林走去。我們踩在松脆的雪地上，腳底下發(fā)出嘎吱嘎吱的聲音，身后留下一串灰色的小腳印。爸爸的影子長長的，而我的影子又短又圓。我得時不時地跑上幾步才能跟上爸爸，每當這時，我那又短又圓的影子也跌跌撞撞地跟在我身后。但我從未喊過一聲。如果你要去看貓頭鷹，就必須保持安靜，這是爸爸一直掛在嘴邊的話。我一直盼著和爸爸一起去看貓頭鷹，為這一天我已經(jīng)等了好久好久。

我們到達了松樹林外圍，黑簇簇的松樹尖頂直入云霄。爸爸舉起一只手，我立刻停住腳步，站在原地等著。他仰頭看向天空，仿佛是在尋找天上的星星，又好像是在研究天上的一張地圖。月光灑在他的臉上，給他的臉龐罩上了一層銀色的面紗。接著他發(fā)出了“嗚嗚—呼呼呼—嗚”的聲音， 這是巨角貓頭鷹的叫聲?！皢鑶琛艉艉簟獑?！”他又叫了一遍，接著又叫了一遍。他每叫一遍之后都會安靜一會兒，這段時間里我們倆會豎起耳朵仔細地聽。但我們沒聽到任何回應。

爸爸聳聳肩膀，我也聳聳肩膀。我并不失望。我的哥哥們都說過，樹林里有的時候有貓頭鷹，有的時候沒有。

我們接著向前走。我能感覺到天氣的寒冷，就像有人把冰冷的手放在我的背上一樣。我的鼻子和雙頰凍得發(fā)燙，但我一聲也沒吭。如果你要去看貓頭鷹，就必須保持安靜，還要自己抵御寒冷。

我們走進樹林。漆黑的樹影灑落一地，破壞了雪地的純白，那是我見過最濃的黑色。我蒙在嘴上的圍巾被我呼出的熱氣潤濕了，讓我覺得嘴里毛乎乎的。深更半夜，那些黑乎乎的大樹后面會躲著什么樣的東西呢？我沒有開口問。如果你要去看貓頭鷹，你就一定要勇敢。

接著，我們來到這片漆黑的樹林中的一片空地上。明月高懸于我們上方，似乎是對準這片空地的中央嵌在空中，雪地在月光的照耀下顯得比盛在谷物碗中的牛奶還要潔白無瑕。我嘆了一口氣，爸爸舉起一只手示意我不要出聲。于是我用手套捂在蒙著我嘴的圍巾上，仔細聆聽。然后，爸爸喊了起來：“嗚嗚—呼呼呼—嗚！嗚嗚—呼呼呼—嗚！”

我使勁豎起耳朵聽，睜大眼睛看，我的耳朵在冰天雪地里凍得生疼，雙眼也蒙上了一層霧氣。爸爸仰起臉打算再喊一遍，但他還沒來得及張嘴，一只貓頭鷹的回應聲就穿過樹林傳來?！皢鑶琛艉艉簟獑?！”爸爸臉上有了笑意。接著他回應了一聲“嗚嗚—呼呼呼—嗚”，就好像他和那只貓頭鷹在聊晚餐、聊樹林、聊月色或是聊寒冷的天氣。我把手套從我嘴邊的圍巾上拿下來，臉上也有了笑意。貓頭鷹的叫聲越來越近，剛才聽起來還在樹的上方，這會兒已經(jīng)來到了草地的邊緣。但草地上仍然一點兒動靜都沒有。突然，一只貓頭鷹的影子如火箭發(fā)射一般，從剛才還紋絲不動的一棵大樹的影子中猛地分離出來，徑直飛到我們上方。我們靜靜地看著，心里那些激動的話語涌到嘴邊，卻都忍著沒有說出口。那個黑影再次發(fā)出了低沉的叫聲。爸爸打開了他那支大手電筒，將亮光打在了那只正要降落枝頭的貓頭鷹身上。一分鐘，三分鐘，甚至或許是一百分鐘，我倆就這么和那只貓頭鷹對視著。然后，那只貓頭鷹扇動起它那雙巨大的翅膀，如一道黑色的魅影，悄無聲息地從它落腳的樹枝騰空而起，飛回了樹林深處。

“該回家了?！卑职謱ξ艺f。我知道這下我可以說話了，甚至可以放聲大笑了。但是在步行回家的路上，我卻一句話也沒有說，安靜得像一個影子。你去看貓頭鷹的時候，不需要開口說話，也不要害怕寒冷，你什么也不用帶，只需要心懷希望。這是爸爸說的。那份希望會在明亮的月光下，乘著貓頭鷹的翅膀，悄悄地飛到我們身邊。