I look up from closing the cover on a dusty book, listening for the sound of stirring wings. I hear silence instead. Even my own breath is too shallow to make a sound. My finger makes a comet's tail in the distinct gray film that coats the table. It is the only mark I will leave here, and like every comet's tail, it will fade.
Books sit many days untouched, the curtains smell musky, boards creak uncomfortable under my feet, not used to strangers. I walk to his perch, left without its occupant since Nimue. In the dark room, there is little not to see. I imagine his head pressed next to his side and his yellow eyes shining as they circumspect me.
I open the curtains to let in the light, destroying the images of the darkness. Clouds of dust erupt from the curtains in plumes and dance in the sunlight before settling on lamps and furniture. The new sun creates shadows where before there were none. I appreciate the dark corners with their mysteries and welcome the clarity of open spaces. I take them both together.
I examine the perch sympathetically and smile sadly. It's occupant is obsolete. I hang up his wings and walk away.
1 comment:
Oh Paige, this kind of broke my heart. I loved the Archimedes series. Why is he gone? I wasn't ready to say goodbye. But I loved both the poetry and the prose farewells, and the allusion to Nimue in prose definitely caught my attention. I quite liked it.
And thank you thank you thank you for Gary Go. I owe you vast amounts of something for him. He has made my life the past month. You are my new music guru.
Post a Comment