The Haunting of Flight Feathers
By Toni Cogdell
Only the sporadic sound of twigs underfoot suggests someone is there.
If not for the slight swaying of a branch or the twisting of a leaf
her presence would remain unannounced.
The nurturing curvature of winter trees cradle her form,
Their twiggy thread entwining to forge her own sky,
A configuration of adoring, protective mothers
gazing down at their sleepy child.
Crouched, head bowed, her hands furrow the earth,
fingers searching for memories lost in the soil,
forgotten secrets and stories,
ancient souvenirs from another life.
A time-
reaching back along reverse pathways.
She breathes the cedar musk air into her lungs
as the songs rain down on her,
melodies once lost now flood the forest floor with their sweet downpour.
The Crows caw in unison,
their obsidian eyes sparkle in recognition.
Silently they witness the Forest’s daughter remembering.
They see her staring back at them, eyes alight,
mouth curved into a crescent smile,
her arms uncurling and reaching upwards as if in fervent prayer.
Black feathers on skin she dreams of flight.
She longs to unfold herself to the wind, to retrace her structuring,
To oversee well trodden walkways while leaving new trails in the sky.
Wings in place of flesh and bone arms,
Feather, bone and flight.
Her Shapeshifter heart awakens
And begins to beat a different formation.
Swift, alert and alive.
It drums a feathered beat
Pulsating with the rhythm of knowing and purpose,
Deep rooted, intrinsic, original.
The Language of birds consumes her own.
A reshaped syntax settling in her lungs,
An altered song migrating from reformed lips
As the icy rain beads across her warm plumage.
Gazing through the enfolding winter mists
Towards the deep green haze of trees
It’s hard to decipher the form beneath them.
At first glance there stands a girl, barefoot on soil,
Yet in the shadow of a blink
there appears a bird in her place, wings unfurled
Its breath visible in the cold air as it caws skywards.
In the gloaming only slivers of perception are revealed.
Without knowing if it’s a woman you see
Or a bird, or somehow both all at once
You watch her shimmer into a blur
As wings envelop her
And carry her off into the night.
Your gaze follows after her, bemused,
But you keep on watching.
And you watch
As she flies herself home.
First published in the Winter edition of Faezine
