It is 4:57 in the morning.
The cyclist leaves the house.
The night has not quite gone yet.
The fields are wrapped in a grey, silent light.
After a few miles, he sees an owl.
It is perched on a fence post beside the road.
Motionless.
The cyclist slows down.
The owl watches him.
He watches the owl.
For a few moments, neither of them moves.
Then the cyclist rides on.
After a bend in the road, he glances back.
The owl is gone.
He smiles and continues.
A mile later, he sees it again.
Perched on another post.
Motionless.
The cyclist does not remember seeing it fly.
He keeps riding.
Each time the owl disappears, it reappears farther ahead.
Always on the next post.
Always motionless.
Always silent.
At last, the cyclist stops.
“Are you following me?”
The owl blinks slowly.
“No.”
“Then why are you always ahead of me?”
The owl remains still for a few moments.
“I do not move.”
The cyclist waits for it to say more.
But the owl says nothing.
After a while, it opens its wings and disappears.
The cyclist remains standing on the empty road.
Then he changes gear and continues riding.
For the rest of the morning, he keeps thinking about the owl’s answer.
When he returns home, he still does not know whether the owl had told him something very profound.
Or something very simple.
Riccardo 