Two Eyes with Wings

Fresh snow erases the ugliness of winter, without a collection of flakes and without leaves, something is missing from the cold. The trees resemble roots, as if someone took them and turned each one upside down for the season, except the coniferous ones, those have a point to make. I have a point to get to; we all do.

I always wish the snow would stay, and I wish I could too, but today is my last day here. All the snow fell overnight, sixteen inches in all, but since the sun came out, it has warmed up quite a bit. I began my walk, gave myself the gift of presence, leaving my phone by the table, I'll take pictures with my mind. The purity of new snow could rival the beauty of a child. All children see is how perfect their world is, ignorant to anything worse or better. What is danger? What does it look like? In my adult life, I've learned the most dangerous animals are the ones who smile at you.

Among the beauty there are daggers hanging from the roof. Powerlines at risk of breaking from the weight and car accidents down the street. It's kind of incredible to see a truck wrapped around a tree, like a hug. It's always the big trucks that you see in the ditch. A verifiable display of overconfidence, I do hope no one was hurt. It is human nature to focus entirely on the object you don't want to hit, as if that tree was planted 100 years ago, just for the vehicle to crash. Too perfectly wrong to be an accident, and this is why we continue down the path of self-destruction, whispering "it couldn't be" until we are forced to face the fact that it is. Ignorance is dressed up as happenchance, obviously, blind eyes play no part in fate.

The snow on the Tall Pine Ponderosas is beginning to weigh the branches down, causing waterfalls of heavy powder to cascade. Falling down at a gentle angle, disappearing into the ground, like a dull thumping rabbit foot. The trees are tall, and their needles only gather towards the top. The weight of the snow causes the pines to sway slowly, almost unnoticeably back and forth, back and forth. I imagine a tiny crew of wood workers with ropes yelling and climbing up to secure the top, trying to prevent the trunk from snapping, due to the weight, but it's very quiet actually. The million-dollar homes in this country club are empty, and the snow-covered golf course too.

I am reminded of a story I read to my kids once, it's about a snow-white mitten that someone's grandmother had knitted. The boy lost his mitten, but every animal in the forest found it and crawled inside to share the warmth, from as big as a bear, to the small mouse on his nose that sneezed. The sneeze was the last straw before the mitten shot everyone out and flew into the air and was miraculously caught by the boy. I am looking for a white mitten too.

I see a curious place at the end of the road, a home that seems alive, with children playing and building a fort outside. The chimney is puffing, inviting the idea that this house might be lived in. The driveways have been shoveled and the car is cleared off, and a woman is yelling for the attention of someone out front. The kids can't hear anything, they would be too young to help, and I feel a sense of purpose.

The front door was open, and there were fresh crumbs of snow showing a path, I stopped and hollered "Hello! Hello!" I only heard my own echo. I retreated and diligently walked the exterior, looking for a sign that I had in fact heard or seen people. When I arrived back to the front door, the snow was freshly fallen and untouched, but the door was still open, and a few bits of snow reassured me there had been movement.

I took in the look of the house for the first time, distracted by purpose, I had missed quite a bit. A two-story hexagon shaped home loomed above me, stucco painted dusty sage green, with board and batting painted khaki colored, accentuating the second story. Thick pinch-pleat curtains were hanging inside, once upon a time someone had decorated. The front door had a small, pitched doghouse roof over it, covered with a little luscious moss, a creeping vine and volcanic rocks poking up, absorbing the sun and melting the snow around them.

The creeping vine surrounded the door on both sides and crawled over the top of the roof, disappearing into the eaves. I paused in front of the sixteen-panel hand-carved door, stained dark, and scratched at the handle. It was scratched raw to the unfinished wood, like a dog digging its way in, and it seemed a shame to abuse such a beautiful thing.

"Hello! Hello!" I called. Once again, only my echo responded. One more step and I would be past the point of no return, curiosity had lulled common sense to sleep. I entered the building, knowing already it was not what it had seemed. I felt a quickening in my heart with each step the room getting darker. There was a warm umbering light flickering in the distance, the room opened up and it was quite a menagerie! The light fixtures were three-foot wooden spoke wheels, covered in birds, a family of barn owls on one, white doves and peacocks on the others. The inside of the building had been invaded by vines, animals, and the newest intruder was me. The ceilings were vaulted with pine planks, and a thick beam, artfully notched, then burned and varnished, diligent effort by a human, once up a time. The beams drew attention to each transition of the roof. It was hot inside, but there was no sign of a fire, it had a smell, not fecal but animal still and the windows were coated in eternal humidity. The air was so thick, I struggled to breathe but the smell was so odd, I didn't want to. A tug on my coat sleeve forced me to gasp. My free hand went straight to my heart, as if to prevent it from leaping out of my body and running to safety without me.

A soot covered child was holding my sleeve, so dirty and rumpled I couldn't tell if they were a boy or a girl, and I wondered why that was the first assessment I attempted to logically make. Upon entering this residence, did I really think the child's gender was the key to the peculiarity?

"Max" he said.

"Alice" I said.

"Do you want to play?" he smiled as if he knew the answer already.

"Yes, I do." and I smiled back. I followed him into the great room, all the beasts' eyes looking into my soul, guarding this child of theirs'. The boy removed a picture from the wall, behind the picture was a hole and he crawled through. We were in a large attic now, with a wall of windows along one side, the air was fresh in here and warm.

I don't know how long it took for me to notice a change, it felt like a few hours, but it could have been days. I don't remember what I meant to do that day, or where I came from, but I was still aware there were things I had forgotten. My thoughts were pure, my imagination was on fire. Max and I began to play pretend; he was an eagle screaming "Freedom!" the sound of his scream echoing between the 1,500-foot cliffs on either side of the Rio Grande! It didn't feel like I was imagining anything anymore. I blinked and looked down, I saw humans playing in the water, their voices bouncing up the walls. I couldn't make out what they said, but I felt their joy, and I saw their arms and fingers pointing up at me.

I dove down like a silver bullet, opening my wings, compromising with the breeze which lifted me at a speed that should have scared me. The more I feared, the more I felt free, and drawn like a moth to fire, everything scary was beautiful and I had to touch it. I was living in a memory! I recognized the place, and one of the people at the base of the cliff was me! It was like I was feeling a dual memory, more than DeJa'Vu. I had been here before, but I was experiencing it for the first time, full immersion, but from a higher eye. I wanted to saturate myself with this sensation! I closed my eyes to isolate the feelings in categories according to senses, but touch was all I craved. Feeling the wind splitting my feathers, and the feathers like bread and butter, red blades coercing the air. My eyes opened in layers, first, second, exposing my third eyelid protecting me from the wind. One long blink, followed by silence. Opening once, I was back in a quiet warm room with fresh air and my little friend, Max.

I looked at him and his hand holding mine, but this time our hands were the same size. I wasn't afraid, I had become a child without experience, fearless in every way, pure purposeless joy, embracing catastrophe. My avian eye locked with Max, "Do you want to keep playing?" he asked.

"Yes, I do." I replied.

"You will soon forget everyone." He warned, "except me, but we will play all day and you will never be lonely."

"Forget who?" I felt confused.

"All of your loss and gains. Children and parents too. We can live forever here, forever young, forever free." He promised me, as if he knew the answer already.

"No, I can't Max. I want to play, but I don't want to be trapped in freedom either." I let go of one hand, and he wept as he walked me to the door. I turned around to give a long look goodbye, but the house was gone. Maybe, I saw what I wanted to see, maybe I fell and hit my head and imagined the whole thing. Either way, I felt I had been unconscious. My life had been a series of rituals, habitually performed, limited by perceived responsibility and fear of being perceived neglecting my adultness, which brings me to my point; there is growth, awareness and power in change.