Skip to main content

Marvellous Moments - Story #1





A story which occurred to me when I picked up this feather whilst out walking. Feeling the wind push against it, trying to lift it, was a marvellous moment for me :)


Marvellous Moments #1 - Feather




Cara stooped, grabbed up the feather lying on the tow path and swiftly held it aloft to prevent Snaps liberating it. At six months, her retriever was living up to his name, retrieving everything and snapping it up to be presented at Cara’s feet with a goofy, tongue-lolling grin. She hurled one of his battered tennis balls into the undergrowth and he was off.

The feather, twirling in her fingers, probably belonged to one of the rooks who held chaotic court in a stand of nest-laden oaks on her left. She wasn’t clued up enough to know for sure, but the black had a shimmering hint of blue down one side, dancing in the dappled sunlight. A stray breeze caught the feather when held up to the light and she felt the ghostly tug as it tried to break free. Cara tucked it behind her ear, spent 5 minutes rooting Snaps out of the water weeds and ambled home.

Just after midnight, Snaps decided he really, really needed to use the amenities. Cara was pretty sure it had more to do with the intriguing scuffling, rustling and calling which emanated from the wild patch she hadn’t yet got round to clearing out since moving in. Still, it was a still night, a full moon swimming in a star-speckled sea, and sleep was elusive. She watched the dog hurtle down the back steps and disappear into the gloom, accompanied by several excited yips and wuffs. 

Settling onto the porch swing, running a hand through her hair, Cara was surprised to feel the stiff prickle of her feather. She chuckled, wondering if she might actually have slept with it tucked safely through a curl. Once again the wind tugged playfully at the feather, Cara marvelling at the force. It almost felt like she could take off with maybe one or two more, so strong was the pull. She closed her eyes for a moment, twirling the feather against her lips.

Slowly, by degrees, Cara began to feel light, ephemeral, as if a breath of breeze would whisk her away. Her hair seemed to stream back, tendrils tickling at her eyelids, cheeks and neck. She caught the scent of damp leaves, rich earth and mossy bark. An owl screeched, a fox screamed, and far below something scuttled, hunted, fleeing. She felt her body turn, passing within inches of a tree branch, leaves whistling by, occasionally dripping the night’s rain. Her wings stretched, flexed, curved and straightened, aiding her flight. She had never felt so free, so light, so alive. 

Alighting within the rookery, she felt the warmth, scented the musky feathery oneness of her mate beside her, head cocked, inquisitive, questioning with those intelligent eyes. Who are you, for you are not she? He shook out his feathers, crowed softly and dipped his head twice. It felt like dismissal but she had no desire to go. This was life, unfettered, raw and wonderful.

She felt a coldness. A damp insistence at her wing tip… her… fingers? A low, uncertain snuffling, heaviness against her wing… arm? A low wuff and she was back, Snaps bounding off and back now equilibrium was restored, licking her hand. His attentions caught her off-guard, the feather slipping from her grasp and streaking into the moonlit air. A shadow crossed the moon, a rook, flying home after its strange adventure.
“Thank you” Cara whispered, her mind still floating, her heart light as she returned to the house, Snaps grinning at her heel.

Comments

Post a Comment

Tell me your thoughts, please

Popular posts from this blog

Biology Homework

Clare looked from the still dripping axe on her night stand to the closed – sadly, unlocked - bedroom door. Trying not to be distracted by the pretty fan of blood spray on the ceiling, she fought to keep the excitement out of her voice. At least her mother still knocked. Let her suspect masturbation rather than … this. “Sweetie, can I come in?” “Er… not right now, mum. Kinda busy.” Which was a variation of the truth. “May I ask what with? This is a little urgent.” “My biology project…?” she ventured. Again, a version of the truth. Biology homework had been to study the human anatomy.   Her dissection, George, the school bully, lay in beautifully disjointed pieces on her duvet. She grabbed the axe, intending to throw it under the bed, lurching around in startled horror. “Dammit!” she exclaimed as the axe, swinging under her momentum, connected soundly into her mother’s torso. Mummy dearest seemed too shocked by the mess on the bed to scream or react. She droppe

Experiment

Sam thrashed awake, but the grinding pain did not dissolve in the face of fluorescent brilliance. The claws tearing at his eyes resolved into his fingernails, shreds of bloodied bandage clinging, entangled. A door banged open followed by brisk tutting. Hands appeared in his pink-tinged vision adeptly wrapping fresh bandages into place, removing sight but not sensation. The howling screams continued in the depths of his brain and the urge to rip at his eyes was overwhelming. Even as his hands rose once more there was a sharp snick in his arm, fluid flowing, oblivion following. He didn’t feel the reassuring pat on his arm, the quiet words of Nurse Clarke; “Dr Arthur says it’ll be a couple more days before those can come off, hon. Patience now.” Sam slipped in and out of the next few days. He pain was constant, the urge to scratch his eyes so insistent they had to keep him fully sedated. When he tried to gouge in his sleep he woke to find his arms restrained, a nurse on

Marvellous Moments - Gold

Cara shifted position, easing out her back, a little envious of Snaps who dozed happily in the shade of an overgrown pergola. Her spine spoke in sharp cracks, but she had promised herself she would finish cutting back the bramble patch before sunset. A glance at the sky revealed a rapidly sinking sun and the first blush of violet. Cara set to with a will. Five minutes, a pile of tangled, thorny debris and several new battle scars later, she sat back on her heels and stared at the odd little tableau her efforts had revealed. At the centre of the patch a smooth triangle of stone had been set up. Next to it, a toy-sized pickaxe sat buried in the earth. To Cara it looked uncomfortably like a memorial. Scratched into the stone were the words ‘Olla’s Gold’. The entire area was surrounded by orange flowers with vivid yellow centres. “What is this, Grace?”  She’d got into the habit of chatting to her late aunt, surprised by how often an answer to her question slipped acros