Friday, August 09, 2013

Most mornings I wake with feathers in my hair.

When it began at the beginning of the summer, I found it disconcerting. Where were these feathers coming from? Why was I waking every morning with feathers tangled in my curls?

I checked the duvet. No holes. I looked at the pillows. No obvious rifts.

As I vacuumed under the bed, there were more feathers.

The answer becomes clear.

I am a shape shifter.

Once I am asleep, I become some kind of bird. An owl, I hope. I glide into the summer night and perch along the Mississippi river. I watch the river. I listen to the squeaking of the mice. I turn my head slowly, taking in the whole of the landscape. My talons grip the wood of the tree.

When the other birds wake, I fly back to my house. I must be there when the sun rises, to glide back into my human body. The only trace of my alter ego is the feathers that I leave behind.

I should be glad, I suppose, that we do not live closer to the sea for I would surely put my seal skin on and never be seen again.

0 Baleful Regards:

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