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There was a rooster who dreamed of wings. Of flight. Of being a bird.
He did not know he wasn't. Every night he dreamed only as a chicken could dream. His head tucked beneath the bib of his feathers. Dreaming through the bright lights when it was night. Dreaming through the deep darkness that permeated the day. This didn't stop the Rooster from dreaming. For all birds dream. In between rapid eye movements he saw skies filled with millions of birds. They called to him. Skies were filled, day and night, brimming with the overwhelming excitement of birds of all kinds. Birds of irregular shapes and sizes. Birds that were and were not like him. Birds filled with eagerness. With joy. In his dream, the Rooster's legs began to pedal as if he were running. A constant tingling itch took root near the stems of his broad wings. A rush of air lifted him upwards. Glancing out he saw vast multitudes. Reaching, he could feel the brush of other wings. Looking down, he felt the thrill of seeing tree tops and the roofs of tall buildings. The blood surged through his broad chest into his beating proud heart. Soon he was singing in a language that was unfamiliar but he knew he would soon come to understand. A call. In the distance, a verdant green island loomed. It was graced with a menagerie of living birds. He adjusted his wings and landed, surely, with a soft bounce on waving tall grass. Around him, the multitudes cackled, crowed and cawed in greeting. He answered in a new voice. He understood. Home. NOT as early as he usually did, the cantankerous farmer awoke in a worse humor than usual. "That damn Rooster!" He sneered under his breath, biting the inside of his quivering jowls. "Forgot to wake me. I'll fix his gizzard! Even the Roosters are lazy around here!" Scalding his throat on day-old coffee reheated in the microwave, he kicked his old faithful dog. As he slammed the front door, he banged his arthritic left knee on the front porch banister. " GD Hellfire and tarnation!" He skulked down the stairs, in a fouler mood than usual. And upon arriving at his destination, he found the coop-gate gaping wide open. Near the entrance was a neat stack of scattered silver-grey feathers. Next to it, a small impression of Rooster tracks. His blue-ribbon winning Rooster gone forever. His no more. Amen. So happily, for the Rooster, not the end. But many new beginnings. Copyright June 22, 2014 Author Melissa A Howells/Meloo All Ideas/Poetry/Stories are Property/Copyrighted by this Author Copyright Site: Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
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