The Return

I was playing piano yesterday when Otis Burble flew in through the window. He mumbled something about the forest, and then perched on the back of a chair, staring into space with his eyes half closed. As I was removing some twigs and leaves that were stuck to his feathers, I asked him where he'd been and why he had come back. He said he couldn't tell me where he'd been, and he came back because he was craving crumpets and he missed the roses. I just nodded and smiled. Silly owl.