Snuggle down now.
All the way down.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Pull the blanket up to wherever you like it best.
We're going to a city.
A very old city.
A very long time ago.
In a warm country beside a blue sea.
Not for the old stories about heroes or adventures.
Nothing like that.
Tonight we're going to visit one small house at the very end of a long,
Warm day.
And watch people in it get ready for bed.
And while we're there.
.
.
We're going to count owls.
Because this city is full of them.
If you know where to look.
You don't have to stay awake till the end.
You don't have to count every hour.
If you fall asleep somewhere along the way,
That's perfectly fine.
In fact.
That is what the owls would want.
It's evening in Athens.
Long,
Long ago.
The city lies spread over its low hills.
A great warm tumble of small houses with roofs of red clay tiles.
All crowded together along narrow,
Winding lanes.
The sun has been shining on all those tiles all day.
And now they're slowly giving their warmth back to the air.
And right in the middle of the city,
Rising above everything,
There's a great high hill of rock with a flat top.
The people of Athens call it the Acropolis.
And on top of it stands a temple.
Long and white and beautiful,
With rows and rows of tall stone columns all along its sides.
That's the Parthenon.
It's the home of the goddess Athena who looks after this city.
And right now,
Because the sun is going down,
The whole temple has turned the color of warm honey.
Down below,
In one of the narrow lanes.
There's a small house with plain walls and a wooden door.
Inside the door,
There's a little courtyard,
Open to the sky,
With rooms all the way around it.
And in the courtyard,
Sitting on the warm stone steps.
Is a girl called Melissa.
Melissa is playing knuckle bones.
She has five of them.
Five small,
Smooth bones worn soft and creamy from being played with so much.
And she tosses them up.
And catches them on the back of her hand.
She puts all five away in her little cloth bag and pulls the string tight.
That is enough knuckle bones for one day.
Beside her,
Stretch out in the last warm patch of stone,
Is Plangon.
Flanagan is a dog.
Very small,
Very fluffy,
Very white dog.
A pointed nose,
Two pointed ears,
And a tail that curls up over her back like a question mark.
Flanagan has opinions about everything.
And she says them out loud in a small,
High,
Busy voice about cats and about cars.
About people walking past the door who have no business walking past the door.
But not now.
Flanagan has done all her talking for today.
She lies in her warm patch with her chin on her paws.
And one ear goes up.
And then goes down again.
She lets out a long,
Contented sigh,
All the way along her small,
White body.
Overhead,
The swifts are wheeling round and round the rooftops,
Calling in thin high voices,
Higher and higher,
Further and further away.
And then they're gone.
Out among the olive trees beyond the city,
The cicadas,
Who have been singing all day long,
Slow down.
And slow down.
And Athens,
The city of little owls,
Grows a little quieter.
Now up under the roof on the far side of the courtyard,
There's one clay tile that has never quite sat straight.
It tips up a little at the corner.
Underneath it,
There's a small,
Dark gap between the tiles.
And the top of the wall.
And in that gap.
All day long.
While the sun was hot and the city was busy.
Somebody has been fast asleep.
Somebody small and round and brown and speckled all over with white.
Somebody with a flat,
Round head.
And no neck to speckle.
Right now in the dark of that little gap.
One round yellow eye opens.
Just a crack.
And then closes again.
Not quite yet.
The wooden door swings open.
And in comes Melissa's father,
Home from the market.
He shuts the door behind him.
And leans on it for a moment with his eyes closed.
The way grown-ups do when the day is finally over.
Fangan lifts her head and gives one small woof.
Just so he knows she's noticed.
Then she puts her head back down.
He sits at the little table in the courtyard.
And ties the leather purse from his belt.
And tips it out onto the wood.
Out slide the coins,
Small,
Bright silver coins,
Chinking softly together into a little heap.
And Melissa comes over to look.
Because this is one of her favorite parts of the day.
On every single coin.
Is now.
A little owl standing very straight.
With enormous round eyes looking right at you.
Behind it.
A sprig of olive leaves.
And up in the corner just above its head.
Tiny crescent moon.
Because in Athens.
.
.
That's what money looks like.
The owl is the goddess Athena's own bird.
And this is Athena City.
So the owl goes on the coins.
Half the time,
People in Athens don't even call them coins.
They simply call them owls.
How many owls did that cost?
They say.
Melissa counts them one at a time,
Sliding each one across the table with the tip of her finger.
One hour.
Two hours.
3L.
Four hours.
Five little silver owls with five little silver moons.
All in a row.
Her father smiles and scoops them back into the purse,
And ties it shut and hangs it on the hook by the door.
Athens,
The city of little elves,
Grows a little quieter.
Supper is in the courtyard.
Under the open sky.
There isn't very much of it.
And there doesn't need to be.
And there's bread,
Torn into pieces.
A little dish of olives,
Green and black and glossy.
A soft white cheese.
Some fakes,
Split open.
Purple and sweet inside.
And a small pot of honey.
Golden and slow.
For dipping the bread in.
Melissa's mother pours goat's milk into Melissa's cup.
It's a round clay cup with a little handle on each side.
And on the side of it,
Painted in black and orange.
There's an owl.
A little now.
Standing between two olive springs.
With its face turned round to look right at you.
Melissa turns the cup in her hands until the owl is facing her.
And looks back at it for a while.
And drinks her milk.
That's another owl.
And up on the hill,
Above the rooftops,
The great white temple is changing color.
The warm honey gold goes softer.
And thinker.
And paler.
And then all at once.
As if somebody had breathed on it.
The whole temple goes cool and grey.
And quiet.
Blue.
The sun has gone.
The day is done.
And Athens,
The city of little elves.
Grows a little quieter.
Up under the crooked tile in the little dark gap.
Both round yellow eyes are open now.
The little owl shuffles forward.
Just a bit.
Pokes out his little round head.
And looks at the evening.
And blinks slowly.
One eye,
And then the other.
The way you blink when you've only just woken up.
And haven't yet decided whether you approve of things.
Then it stretches out one wing.
All the way.
So you can see the soft white spots along the feathers.
And folds it neatly away again.
And settled.
And waits for the dawn.
Now it's time for the lamp.
Melissa's mother brings them out one by one.
Each lamp is a little clay dish,
Small enough to sit in the palm of your hand,
With a spout at the front.
Where the wind beeps out.
She fills each one with golden olive oil.
And lights the way.
And a small flame stands up at the spout.
Study.
In yellow and calm.
One lamp for the table,
One for the doorway.
One for the little room where Melissa sleeps.
And wherever a lamp goes.
It makes a small,
Soft circle of gold.
And everything outside the circle.
Goes a little darker.
And a little lower.
And a little more.
Like night.
In the corner of the courtyard stands the loom.
It's too.
Taller than Melissa's mother.
A wooden frame leaning against the wall with long woollen threads hanging all the way down it.
At the bottom of every bunch of threads hangs a little weight made of clay.
Keep the thread straight and still.
Her mother sits at the loom one last time.
And weaves the last line of the day.
Slowly.
And ties off the thread.
She stands up,
Her long dress rushes against the bottom of the loom,
And all the little clay weights swing and knock softly together.
Like a quiet wooden wind chime.
Then they stop swinging and hang still.
And Athens,
The city of little owls.
Grows a little quieter.
Now the house is putting itself to bed.
Melissa's father slides the wooden bar across the door to the lane.
And it settles into place with a soft,
Solid clunk.
Shout for the night.
The dishes are cleared away.
The last of the bread is wrapped in a cloth for the morning.
The lamp on the table is blown out.
A thin gray curl of smoke rises from it.
And disappears.
And all over Athens.
The same thing is happening in thousands of little houses.
Doors are being shut.
Lamps are being blown out.
One by one.
Voices get lower.
And fewer.
And further apart.
Somewhere nearby,
A baby is being sung to.
Very softly.
In a voice that goes up and down.
And up and down.
Like a small boat on a calm sea.
The sky over the courtyard.
That square of sky framed by the four edges of the roof.
Has gone deep,
Deep blue.
One star has come out.
Then too.
Than more than Melissa can count.
Even as you're trying.
And Athens,
The city of little owls.
Grows a little quieter.
Melissa's room is small and dim and cosy,
Just off the courtyard.
There's a low bed with a soft woollen blanket.
In a doorway with no door.
Only a curtain awed by it.
That from her pillow she can see out across the courtyard and up at that square of starry sky.
Her mother tucks the blanket around her and smooths her hair.
And says goodnight.
Lamp by the bed has burned down low,
And its flame is small now,
And sleepy,
And hardly moving at all.
There's a soft pattering across the floor.
And a little scrabble.
And Plangan arrives.
She jumps onto the end of the bed.
Which he isn't supposed to.
It always does.
Turns around once,
Twice,
Three times.
And flops down at Melissa's feet,
A small,
Warm,
Heavy bundle of white fluff.
A curly tail and curls.
She sighs.
Melissa wriggles her toes underneath her.
Flanagan doesn't mind.
Melissa looks out through the doorway.
Across the courtyard.
Up at the edge of the roof on the far side.
At the cricket tile.
And there it is,
Right on the edge of the roof.
Against all those stars.
Sits the little owl.
It has come all the way out now.
It's perched on the very rim of the tiles.
Round and small and neat.
No bigger than a bread roll.
No bigger than your two hands cupped together.
The starlight is enough for Melissa to see the shape of it.
Flat round head.
Soft speckled front.
And two pale little eyebrows over two round yellow eyes.
Which make it look a tiny bit cross.
Although it isn't cross at all.
That's just its face.
The owl looks down into the courtyard.
Turns its round head this way.
And slowly their way.
It bobs just once.
The way little owls do.
And then,
Very softly,
So softly that Melissa isn't quite sure she heard it at all,
It calls.
Just one.
Like a small question.
Asked very gently.
And answered by the quiet.
This owl lives here.
Comes out every evening at just about this time.
And it sits on the edge of the roof all night long.
Looking down over the sleeping house.
Melissa likes to think that the goddess Athena,
Up in her temple on the hill,
Can see the whole city through the round,
Yellow eyes of her little owls.
So that all night long over every house in Athens.
Somebody is keeping watch.
That's the last owl of the day.
And the only one who's awake.
And Athens,
The city of little elves.
Grows a little quieter.
Melissa counts her hours with her eyes nearly closed.
The way she does every night.
Five little silver owls.
Five little silver moons.
In the purse.
On the hook by the door.
One owl and her cub.
Between two olive sprigs on the shelf in the dark.
And one real owl,
Soft and round,
On the edge of the roof.
Under the stars.
Seven out.
Or was it six?
It doesn't matter.
She can pound them again tomorrow.
The lamp flickers and goes out.
Thin thread of smoke rises and drifts.
And it is gone.
Langan is breathing slow and deep across her feet.
Up on the hill,
The great white temple stands quiet in the starlight.
Keeping its own long watch over the city.
The way it has.
For a very long time.
And on the edge of the roof.
The little owl sits and blinks and watches.
Keeps everything safe.
Melissa's eyes close.
And Athens,
The city of little owls,
Was fast asleep.
All but one.
And that's where we'll leave her.
Warm in her bed in the little house off the narrow lane.
The small white dog asleep on her feet.
A square of stars above the courtyard.
A little owl on the edge of the roof.
Keeping watch over everything.
All night long.
Every door is shut.
Every lamp is out.
Every coin is in its purse and every thread on the loom is still.
Everything's safe.
Everything's quiet.
Everything is exactly where it should be.
