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
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