Tuesday, June 02, 2009

The boy of Michigan’s upper peninsula, who wishes to fly

The Atlas of Curiosities: Part 9

Though he did not reveal by what craft he had captured the birds, or in what environment he kept them, the boy indicated that he renewed his attempt at flight each morning.  Though it was unclear how he had secured the yarn around them, or by what magic they were uninjured and unescaped, he nodded solemnly when we inquired into these details, ensuring us that he had taken the birds welfare into consideration.  The cold winter’s morning brought that strange feeling to our noses, and our breath was visible as he trudged out into the field.  Looking around, he seemed satisfied that there was plenty of space for an attempt. 

He gazed quietly up at the clouds, perhaps judging windspeed, or contemplating the conditions of Michigan’s upper atmosphere. Then, he looked down, holding his chin against his chest, and with a flourish he extended his arms, allowing the birds to extend their wings.  They surged upwards and for a moment the silence was broken by their squawking, struggling attempts at liftoff. 

The boy did not look up, but after several seconds had passed and his feet had not left the ground, he sighed and lowered his arms.  Pulling on the lines of yarn one by one, he brought the birds back into his arms and covered them with his jacket. Black feathers floated down around him, landing one by one in the snow.

“I try,” he said quietly. “Everyday I try.”

He began walking quietly back to his home, where his mother, and perhaps his daily chores, were waiting.  While our boots crunched the snow, he paused, and we caught up to him, and he looked up at the sky again.