High in an old tree lived a young owl surrounded by many glowing openings in the forest.
At night, bright flickers danced through the trees—some soft and warm like moonlight, others sharp and restless like lightning trapped in glass. The owl turned his head from one glow to another, never resting long enough to see clearly. His eyes grew tired, and though light surrounded him, he felt lost in the dark.
One evening, an older owl landed beside him.
“You are looking at everything,” the elder said, “but seeing nothing.”
The young owl blinked. “But all these lights— they call to me.”
The elder gently closed one branch, then another, blocking the harsh, flickering lights. He turned the young owl toward the horizon.
Far away, the first light of dawn began to rise—steady, quiet, unchanging.
“Look there,” the elder said.
The young owl watched. For the first time, his vision settled. The forest came into focus. Shapes became clear. The noise faded.
And he realized that not all light helps you see.