While in a grassy area of a large park, I began kicking a small ball about the size of a golf ball or tennis ball. I could see an orange net, like a soccer net, set up nearby, and I realized I was on a field where the goal was to kick the ball into the net. However, I wasn't trying to kick the ball into the net – I was merely trying to kick the ball around the area a bit, trying to get used to kicking it. I wasn't very good at it and I could only make the ball go a short distance.

Another man (who seemed familiar to me) walked up and said he could kick the ball into the net. Since we were now rather far from the net, I doubted he would be able to do so; so when he approached the ball, and with one well-placed kick, slammed it into the net, I was impressed.

Suddenly several other people were with us, and before I knew what happened, we were playing a game. The man who had kicked the ball into the net was the best player, and with another kick he sent the ball far down the field. I ran downfield trying to reach it.

When I reached the end of the field something else distracted my attention. A lone wooden pole was stuck in the ground, and on the pole about the height of my face was a wooden box. I looked at the box more closely and discovered it filled with bird seed. What was more distracting, a bird was hovering just about a meter over my head, trying to come down to the seed.

I backed off and looked at the bird. It was dark brown, and at first it looked like a hawk, but then it looked like an owl, and I decided it must be an owl. I sat down on the ground nearby, only to be delighted to find an owl sitting close to me on the ground. About the size of my hand, it looked as if it were a baby, but it still had all its feathers. I moved my hand close to it, and it immediately clamped down on the middle of my right index finger with its beak. I had expected it to do that, because I had seen other baby owls react that way. It pinched a bit, but didn't hurt. I hollered to the others with whom I had been playing, but they didn't come.

I thought the bird was beautiful and I loved being that close to it, but I quickly realized it was frightened. It let go of me and rolled over on its back. Now it looked more like a large blue-jay. It clearly wanted to get away, but was confused. As I petted its downy stomach, it began squawking loudly. I listened carefully to the squawks, and realized they sounded like words, only I couldn't exactly make out what they were. It seemed as if the bird had been around humans and had learned some language. I also began talking to it, speaking slowly and deliberately. I said several things to it, including, "I won't hurt you."

As I focused on the bird, a small boy only about one year old toddled up. He had snow white hair. He was just about to sit down on top of the bird, when I gently pushed him aside. I didn't know to whom the boy belonged, but I certainly didn't want him endangering the bird.

Clearly the bird wanted to leave, and finally, I helped it right itself. It slowly walked away from me, made a sudden leap, and took flight. The bird circled around under a small park shelter nearby. Realizing someone was in the shelter, I walked over to it. I had to bend down under something to get inside, and when I stood back up, I was surprised to see a man holding the bird on his chest.

The man (about 50 years old) was overweight, dressed in a dark suit and white shirt, and wearing a hat, almost like a derby. I had the immediate impression that he was a gangster. He called to another man, apparently his lackey, telling him that he had the bird back.

I quickly realized the bird belonged to the man. I hoped he wouldn't think I had been trying to take the bird. He didn't seem to. He was just happy to have it back. I struck up a conversation with him, wanting to know how he had obtained the bird. He explained that it had been a wild bird, which he had gradually tamed over time. He had made a place where the bird came to eat, and every day he would go out and talk to the bird. The bird had come closer and closer until finally the bird had let the man hold it. I marveled at how the bird was hanging onto the man's shirt, twisting around and letting the man pet it.

The man explained a little about how to get a bird like that. He said the bird feeder must not be in a place where there is too much heat. He also said something about planting the feeder six inches in the ground.