Feathers Gets His Mojo

by Johnny Benet

  Wisps of fog drifted here and there over the bay. The rainclouds had blown through during the night, leaving a cloudless deep blue sky. Fog lay thicker amongst the grass that ran along shore and out over the marsh. Pools of thick gray mist lay there like a veil. Between the pools sun-thinned fog drifted, curling white ghosts between the reeds.

  The bay lay flat under him, a dark reflection of the sky, unmarred by wave or ripple. There was no wind or breeze, the air lay as still as the water under it. In the places where the fog had burned off dew still lay on the tall grass, making it sparkle in the sun.

  The marshland was quiet and motionless, as if frozen in time.

  The fog was thicker over the sea, and as Feathers left the bay behind, the gray mist surrounded him. It was not so thick that he could not see, not so thin that he could. It was a world of shadows and things half seen. Below him he could just glimpse dark ocean waves as they rolled in.

  Feathers heart lifted as he flew out to sea. Out to the unknown. What new surprises would it have for him this time? Salt tang filled his nostrils, so rich he could actually taste it deep down in the bottom of his lungs. The air was filled with an electric energy. Feathers took it in long deep breaths, savoring the tingling feel it gave him. The energy powered his wings. He felt he could fly forever.

  Suddenly he heard it. A sound he knew, just off his right wingtip, hidden in the fog.

  Then again. To his left, and above and below.

  The snap of wings cutting the wind.

  Feathers squinted hard and forced his gaze into the fog on his right.

  There was a shape there, a dark outline without detail, but somehow Feathers knew.

  It was Gray.

  He peered to his left, above, below.

  They were all there. Just outlines in the fog.

  But he heard them, and he felt them.

  They flew with him, as one. Flock.

  Was he dying? Was this what it felt like on that last dive down? Surrounded by the ones he loved? Flying by his side, guiding him down?

  But he was not going down. Feathers felt as strong as he ever had. His wings might be black and dull, but they powered him through the sky with as much strength as they had ever held, maybe more.

  The fog on the right started to thin. Gray faded away with it, until the place he had been was just a patch of blue sky.

  As Feathers flew out to sea the fog continued to thin, and as it did, they left him, one by one, until he finally flew alone. But they were still there, in his heart and memory.

  And soon a new flock would fly over this water, going out to fish, a cloud of bird, flying as one.

  The trees that lined the shore were just a line of green now, far behind. Growing dimmer, farther, starting to sink below the horizon.

  Almost gone.

  If Feathers had learned one thing, it was that he would never find his way back. Once that line of coast lowered below the horizon there would only be sea behind him, and even if he flew back into it, sea would be all he would find.

  Suddenly he forced the angle of his wings up hard against the wind, stalling there, his wings shaking with the effort of holding him high above the sea, head up, feet down, as if he was walking on air.

  Out before him dark waves rolled out into the mystery. His beloved sea lay right there, offering itself to him, the road of the sky above it, all his, open and free. Somewhere in that distance fish danced and laughed and turtles swam deep, singing away the world's sadness. And there was more. He was sure there was more. More than he could take in in a lifetime.

  Could he leave it? Could he leave his beloved behind?

  The answer came as if spoken.

  Yes.

  Yes he could.

  He could leave it all. He could leave it to the next bird, the next bird who, when his flock turned towards shore, just kept flying.

  Feathers took one last look, gazing out past the edge of the world.

  Then he tucked his great black wings tight to his body and plummeted towards the sea, building up speed.

  He spread his wings then, turning in a wide flashing arc back towards land.

  A single black arrow shot from sea and sky, a single arrow flying straight and true over the dark sea.

  Back to first bird.

  Back to home.

  About the Author

  Johnny Benet was born and raised in Michigan. He currently lives overseas with his wife and two sons.