The Feather

Bright early morning sunlight filtered down through the umbrella of limbs and leaves dappling the forest floor with a patch-work mosaic of light and dark. Squirrels gamboled from limb to limb, male chasing female yet never would she allow him to catch her. Feathered creatures of the air flitted here and there, some pausing to sing a brief song, others simply chasing their next meal.

The old man stood quietly observing the peace of the Great Mother untouched by the corruption of civilization, at least untouched for now. The fresh scent of growing green leaf and plant mingled with the not unpleasant smell of rotting forest detritus filled the warm morning air. Not wishing to disturb the serenity of the scene before him, he remained still for long minutes watching and listening, simply enjoying what was offered.

Finally moving silently as he had learned so many years ago in the days of childhood and youth, he continued toward his destination, one of his favorite trout streams just over the top of the hill. Memories of the taste of freshly stone-baked trout made his mouth water in anticipation. Hopefully the trout would be waiting and hungry and he could catch enough for at least one good meal.

Just as he reached the top he paused just under the old spreading oak, where he had camped so often, to rest for a few moments. There was little to indicate that anyone had ever set foot upon the spot other than the small ring of stones that circled the little fire pit now filled with dead leaves. Despite the thick cover of leaves above the ground underneath the limbs was covered in thick green grass.

As he stepped from the shade of the tree he noticed something out of place, something that did not normally belong there, lying on end held up by the long stems of grass. A long feather tipped in golden brown, bending down he carefully picked it up by the calumus. Holding it up for closer inspection he tried to picture what bird it had come. It was from a large bird he knew simply from the size of it, yet the color was unusual for any of the local known variety.

Carefully he stuck the shaft of the feather under the wide band of the old �slouch� hat both to protect both vane and barb from damage. Putting the old hat back on his head he had to smile at the picture he would present should anyone see. The sounds of the rushing water in the narrow valley below beckoned so off he went as he had come, carefully and silently.

Within a matter of a few short minutes he reached the edge of the stream. Piecing together the old bamboo rod and tightening on the worn manual reel, he selected a large brown nymph from the band of the old hat. Carefully checking that the feather was secure he put the hat back upon his head. Fly tied carefully at the end of the narrow leader he began �stripping� line from the reel as he waded out into the cold water.

The steam was perhaps a bit more than thirty yards wide which made it easy because he could wade the middle and work both sides. With arm and shoulder he worked the line in long looping arcs back and forward letting a few more feet out each time until he could cast to either side.

The morning sun light sparkled off of the rushing water like the reflections of a revolving ballroom globe. The air was warm yet would not become even close to uncomfortable for three or four more hours. Patiently he moved up stream �working� both sides of the stream purposefully seeking the elusive trout that would be his next meal.

Much sooner that he had thought he had one good sized brown trout and two rainbows. These were more than enough and caught so quickly he decided to head for home. He had intended on spending the day fishing and roaming but now he felt there were other things that needed his attention. The hike back was only an hour at most and after his meal there would still be time to write a bit and relax.
XXX

Relaxing on the covered porch listening to the sounds of night from the surrounding forest he thought
�It�s been a good day. A little fishing, a good meal, finished two more chapters of the story, and even had time left over to finish reading the last six or seven chapters of the latest Wilbur Smith book�.yeah, a good day.�

Then his thoughts turned to the feather he had found, an unusual one and fresh too. He had carefully placed it on the shelf over his bed along with the few other special items he had collected over the years. Each of those items held some special meaning and he wondered what meaning this feather would reveal.

Perhaps it was the full day or the exercise of hiking or perhaps it was simply the second glass of Brother Jack he decided it was time for bed. Sleep did not come easy but he knew if he stayed up it would only make the night all too short because he always woke with the sun. Leaving the empty glass on the floor he went inside and to bed.

XXX

The red numbers of the digital clock flashed slowly changing from one number to the next. Time seemed to drag. Tossing and turning for long, long minutes he finally found a comfortable position. All pleas to Hypnos went unheard. There in the darkness of Nyx�s night, the struggle to find that cherished yet elusive commodity called sleep began once again.

Ever so slowly the heart slowed; the mind began to clear itself of all thought until at last he began drift closer and closer toward the realm of Morpheus. The blue-black curtain of sleep began to part removing the final barrier. Immediately, indistinct shapes began to appear at random. Phantasos began to weave colors and shapes.

Scenes of mountains and forests, streams and meadows began to appear. Beautiful girls danced in moon light meadows; naked nymphs frolicked in shimmering pools of water. Faces unknown and faces recognized from distant days came forth. Visions of remembered loves and scenes of fiery passion slowly played out.

Deeper and deeper into Death�s brother he sank until there was nothing but the blankness of oblivion. How long this lasted there was no way to tell. Only the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the near undetectable beat of his heart kept him on this side of the River Styx.

The wolf laid curled sleep in the midst of grass and wild flowers at the edge of the meadow. The early morning sun warmed his coat of black and gray. A persistent buzz intruded within the depths of sleep, one moment there and then gone the next, only to return a few heart beats later just like an annoying pesky fly. Far off in the distance of sleep something demanded his attention.

Unable to ignore the disruption any longer, he began to rouse. Standing stiff-legged, he stretched arching his back high as he could. Wide awake now, he gave himself a violent shake scattering motes of dust, dirt, and pieces of grass thru the warm air.

Fully awake he sniffs the air in search of danger and finds none. The persistent call for his attention becomes a bit clearer. Turning slowly he looks in all directions seeking some sense of where this call comes. The morning sun full in his face beckons with its golden rays.

Within the span of a few short moments the meadow is left far behind. Patiently following the unseen trail he picked his way thru the forest. Over hills and across valleys he ran without pause. Silence greeted him from place to place as the denizens of tree gave their silent warning. Those of the ground scampered for cover and burrow seeking to avoid becoming just another meal. His hunger sated early that morning, he ignored one and all leaving each unharmed. Passing thru each area quickly it was only a matter of minutes before the birds began to sing again signaling all was clear.

Morning passed at the sun climbed higher into the clear sky. With the coming afternoon the air began to warm. At the bottom of a narrow ravine he paused at little stream to quench his thirst. Sensing more than hearing the approaching presence he looks up to see the white-headed eagle glade to a landing atop the towering red oak on the opposite side.

�What do you know of this calling, Sky Brother?�

�That is for you to learn, Earth-bound; the call is for you and you alone.�

Dropping from his perch the eagle climbed upward into the warm air following the course of the stream. Not wanting to loose sight of his friend, he ran along the bank. Secure in the knowledge that his brother knew exactly where to go, the wolf did not question this change in direction.

Scampering over rock and around tree he ran toward the top of the mountain. With each stride a feeling of urgency grew. Try as he might still he had no inkling what secret awaited. Sensing yet another presence joining the journey, lifting his head he saw a black shape wing into view joining his path, now he knew with the presence of these two spirit brothers what awaited was of vast importance.

�What know you of this call, Lady Raven?� He asked silently across the distance.

�Only that I too heard this� she replied just as silently from high above. Then raven was gone from view.

The mountain side became steeper forcing the wolf to slow. Impatient he hurried as best as he might, scrambling over rock and ledge until at last he reach the top. Pausing, only a moment yellow eyes surveyed the scene before him, a few scraggly, wind-bent trees and cold gray slabs of stone. Neither raven nor eagle was to be seen. In the direction of the afternoon sun the gray stone climbed to form an unseen peak.

Slowly now, knowing the answer to his search was near, the wolf�s claws clicked upon gray stone with each step leading toward he knew not what. The warm wind tugged at gray/black fur urging him forward. The closer he came to the final peak the tension built, there was no fear of what he would find yet his heart beat faster as he climbed.

Powerful hind legs propelled him up the last ledge where he stood silently. Before him were several hardy trees whose roots had found hold in the crevices Time had forced upon the stone. He was the Lady Raven perched in silence in the nearest tree.

�Peace, my true friend� the Raven spoke silently.

Without pause he continued up the sloping top to find Sky Brother waiting upon a young oak whose top bent under his weight. Here the wolf stopped to look up but the white-headed eagle simply looked toward the very edge of the mountain top. The meaning was clear.

As the wolf began to move, the eagle, too, spoke to him silently.

�Peace, my brother, it is now yours.�

In front of him stood an old broken dead oak whose top and massive limbs had been sheared off by Time and lightening leaving only two short stubby arms on one side and a longer branch to the opposite side. Approaching slowly he saw there upon the longer branch a large golden-brown bird peering out across the valley far below.

The wolf stood in silence watching and then the majestic bird turned to face him. For long seconds wolf and bird stood on limb and stone looking at each other and then the golden eagle glided down to land just close. Bright yellow eyes peered deeply into bright yellow eyes.

�Dad!�

Reviews

[Ruby Moon]

peace is yours...
i could feel the relief and love in that one word...
a deeply personal piece

[Winter McPherson]

Such a spiritually deep piece. Great imagery. The ending was quite unexpected.

[[untitled]]

It will happen, it will all happen. And in the telling you have given me peace. The thing about your stories is that I FEEL them. I move into them. Well done my brother, well done.

[Wildfleour]

A fascinating and wonderful write, ShadowWolf. Your muse certainly did come a knocking! :)