Thursday, July 28, 2005

Just That Kinda Day

Oh, Okay. I’m flying. Not like superman, but more like an angel. I woke up with wings; new bones formed during the night and broke the skin. They grew, expanded out, sprouting feathers and muscle. When I awoke from a sneeze, I found myself peering at the window through two, fridge-white feathers. My feathers, from me.
The day was only new, but it screamed at my through the window, telling me to join it in it’s daily self expression, it’s revelation of itself. And I could not resist, like a siren to a sailor, I was drawn to the yawning, blue sky.
The air cuts through me, rippling my pyjamas over my skin, my legs flap around and I have to tie my pants extra tight. My fresh wings keep me afloat with ease. Single, great, uncontrolled flaps whoosh me across the countryside, above sleepy villages and cities that never sleep, quicker and quicker until it becomes darker and gloomier, speeding faster than light.
And it is night again, the day reversed so that darkness follows dawn. A rippling ocean spreads itself vast beneath my numb body. A fin breaks the surface ahead of me but I zoom past, my wings lazily carrying me so fast, details become just large expanses of colour. But never once do I question why.
I just remind myself that extraordinary experiences such as this should not be questioned but appreciated, especially an unique occurrence such as this. So, as I fly, I try to remember the physical sensations linked with it. My skin, unused to flight, itches as it stretches around the wings and my back muscles ache from the wings strong pulse. I try to remember my arms, how they float at my sides. I’m unable to move them for the g-force.
And soon I have crossed continents, travelled over snowy mountaintops, expansive fields, glowing cities, and under a bright starry night, Orion winking down upon me.
And, suddenly, I feel at home, the Irish coast leering upon me, the wings dropping to a lower altitude. My house jumps up at me as I dive down to it. It’s still dark outside as I climb into bed, my wings folding into themselves, warm and snug. I fall asleep.
My own cough wakes me and I’m lying flat on my back. I still spin around on my bed to check for the wings, although I realised immediately that they were not there. But I can remember what it was like, smiling over my cereal bowl, squeezing my shoulder blades together and separating them, mimicking the movement, remembering the ocean.


  1. Wow, that just reminded of some stuff I wrote a while ago... Very good, I love it.

  2. Oh God, I'm sleepy... I'm like a big tired rhino.