The turn of a season is quick on our heels – cool, refreshing fingers slide through my deepening autumn coat. Meadows of green are morphing from their summertime tint; a dynamic alteration of color and temperature is coaxing the fatigued countryside into slumber. Sadly, the beauty in these travels and the breathtaking thrill of exploration has become pale in my mind. The tourniquet applied to my heightened apprehension is failing. At last, I’m bleeding out, soaking through a poorly construed facade of normality. The solution to those unanswered questions (an increase on both appetite and girth) has recently come into focus. But that shocking clarity brings me naught an ounce of relief – if anything, it triples the silent misery that plagues me physically and emotionally. Searing, snarling panic expands like fire on gilded rods – catching onto anything dry enough for kindling.  

While my head is eager to deny (falsify) that new reality as truth (fabricating whatever distraction it could to ensure a balance of emotions) – the pulse is fidgety, marinating on dreams and possibilities that seem far off. Gradually, it becomes the whisper of encouragement that (over time) summons my courage from the sparse harvest of resolve. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ she murmurs and gestures to pinnacle of my shallow world...the eagle. ‘How…’ that silent question comes forth as a plea for clarity from the quiet, warm confinement inside me. Ivories slip against my lower jaw. The path ahead seems impossible; doubts are constantly hissing, growling in the darkness, ‘unfit, naïve, coward.’

How…could I ever be…

Irises sharpen, (they are watchful despite my stormy subliminal) as his milk/honeyed frame disappears into a grove of towering evergreen. Pinions slow their momentum, instantly easing off the throttle. Arms work with careful precision (far less reckless and more attentive than in previous months.) Wings tilt, fanning apart – slowly depositing my heaving, travel worn body onto the floor. Toes scrap at the loam beneath, churning the litter and mud while my momentum becomes strangled. Though I’m thoroughly warmed from travel and panting in exertion, these feathers fall into their sheath as soon as Noah angles into view – mindlessly shielding the secret which hangs from the tip of my tongue.    

Mini me leans, admiring the embodiment of divinity – she smiles, an impish, knowing grin. For a fraction of an instance…I forget. There is only him. When grace lends that heavenly creature closer, these dainty, patchwork legs quiver in place with familiar, cherished anticipation. I can feel his breath, wavering, teasing…constricting…his pause brings reality back into focus. Ears tilt slightly in reverse, furrowing optics seek the source of his concern while spiked wariness dunks my fervor in icy disappointment.  

When he ambles off to investigate, I follow (hanging back) – confident enough in his ability (handling whatever) to dip my head, tonguing at the grass in passing. Velvet listeners rotate, absorbing the muffled rhythm of unfamiliar hooves. Blades of barley jut from their slots while I turn (still chewing) to find the source. A lovely child…her strawberry, dappled body is without the mutation of feather or horn and…a bleached canine. Both of which are closing in. Eyebrows arch, protective judgement narrows on the alabaster predator warily. “Hi,” though the corners of these lips are forcefully pressed upward (attempting to mime the expectancy of cordiality) my unease remains fixed on the dog; I'm still unsettled by the commonplace custom of keeping such a creature in proximity.