Wednesday, December 17, 2014

with feathers

Birds come and go in the city.
Not eagles though.
They remain lofty and austere.
Wheeling above country roads.
Gazing down from towering tree limbs,
their triumphant cry on the wind....
You don't expect to hear that cry at your elbow.
You don't expect to glance up with startled eyes, into the steady, level gaze of an eagle.

My friend was reading.
Really reading.
She was gripping the book as she tensely read.
There were monsters lurking.
And then, just at her elbow,
beyond the glass door,
with mighty talons gripping the balcony rail,
an eagle.
A Bald Eagle, monstrous and shrieking.
Fiction with feathers.

1 comment:

Shari Morehouse said...

excellent rendition of an actual event!!
"the friend'