The sun was high in the sky now when you entered into the owlry. The glassless windows dazzle your eyes. Thick silvery beams of sunlight cris-cross the circular room in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters, a little restless in the early morning light, some clearly just returned from hunting. The straw covered floor crunched as you stepped over tiny animal bones, craning your neck for the sight of the owl of your choice, which you find somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling.  With a low hoot the owls streached their great wings and soared down onto your shoulder. After giving it your letter, you carry it to one of the windows. With a moments pleasure on your arm it takes off into the blindingly, bright sky. You watch it until it becomes a tiny black spec and vanishes.