Gaining Wings

The flutter of wings disturbed the dust on the table. A small blue jay landed and hopped over to peck an old, leathered and veined hand. The hand rose and softly fingered the feathers of the bird.

From the table, rose a lady, her long grey braid swaying as she shuffled across the dirt floor to the other side of the wooden hut. In the hut was array of birds flying to and fro, eating and nesting, preening and mating. As they sensed her movement, they chirped a song. The woman pursed her lips and whistled along, singing harmony to their melody.

A few small birds flew up and perched on her shoulders as she refilled the variety of clay pots and bowls with seeds and grains for her guests. She then walked toward the center of the hut.

She then went to sit down at the table again and unrolled a scroll of tattered parchment. Numerous notes classifying the species of birds. Scales of feathers and wingspans. Designs and patterns unique to certain types of peacocks. Stories and fables of mythical birds. The woman sighed as her eyes, jealous of the concept of flight, entranced, devoured every inch of the parchment.

A strong breeze toyed with the feathers entwined in her braid as numerous chimes rang out blissfully. The woman walked over to the large window and leaned out. All she could see was open sky and the tops of trees. Many years ago, she trekked up the mountain side, and built the hut next to the edge of the cliff. She felt closer to the birds this high and safer from civilization and weapons that might harm her precious friends. The sky had cleared, clouds giving way to the sun. Perfect weather to be spending outside in flight, if only she could.

The woman went over to the makeshift door, and stepped onto the wooden porch. A pair of peacocks noticed her and ran up, spreading their tails in delight. She smiled as she petted them and took two feathers from each of them. She dropped them into her large wicker basket and sat. It was full with numerous feathers of all size, shape, and color. Slowly, she inspected each feather; looked it over, turned it in her hand, rubbed it against her face.

Images swirled around her mind. A robin, who flew above the meadow, finding a worm under a flower. A hawk, diving in the sky, testing how fast it could go. An eagle soaring in the canyon, its caw echoing endlessly. A prideful swan at the head of the flock, flying home after winter. A young dove, just getting used to flight, flying higher and higher, daring to reach the top of the sky. Yes, today was a perfect day to be flying; how she wished she could fly like her friends, and experience the world from above.

After choosing the best feathers, the woman took the fabric from a different basket and put it on her lap. She took a feather at a time, and sewed it carefully into the fabric. She worked all day. Birds flew past her into the hut, then flew back out to their homes. Some stopped and landed near or on her to watch in curiosity. After a few moments, they would fly away again, leaving behind a feather or two for the woman, who would pick them up, examine them, and put them in her basket.

As the sun started to set, the woman stood up and brushed off dust, thread and extra feathers. She held up the piece of fabric and looked at it. Nodding, she put it on. The shirt-like cloth fit perfectly, the fabric hanging under her arms, in an arc, as she designed. The feathers rustled methodically as she moved. Smiling, she flapped her arms at the birds, who looked with a new curiosity wondering how their Bird Lady grew wings. They followed her inside as she stepped in front of the cracked mirror.

She twirled and admired her set of wings, as the wind chimes blew. She turned her head and followed birds back out to the porch. They leaped into flight, riding the wind down the cliff wall, only to rise with it. The Bird Lady stood at the very edge of her porch, over the cliff, and spread her arms out. Her friends called out to her, inviting her to use her new set of wings. She closed her eyes and sighed. She sang out, her favorite dove’s song. The wind flittered her wings and she felt the pull and push against her arms.

Her mind flew along with the birds racing dusk’s shadow along the walls of the cliff. The Bird Lady finally was able to take flight.