Neither the ostrich, nor the quail

I was born flightless – a freak without wings. Like the Old Ones, I’ve been told. If only I could travel to them, back through the millennia. I can’t even travel properly through the present. Would I were deaf; would I were blind. Few choices are left me.

Shunned and lonely, I go where the jockeys race. Their powerful prehistoric legs pound savanna dust as fast as swooping through air currents. I preen amongst them, but they do not accept me.

I go to Borneo and Sulawesi, to the tiny Chinese Painted types. Their blue feathers are like cadmium butter, their red feathers like blood-silk drying. They breed with hyperactive intensity. I too can lay an egg a day. I too will crow softly for mates.

But my ground-boundedness builds tight aviaries around me. I enjoy no evolutionary satisfaction. My feathers are dull, I have no bones, my body will not lift.

~ by kingzoko on June 9, 2014.

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