Posted on September 17, 2004 by Jenna
A butterfly, tired from a legendary ascent into the upper air, perches on the little rocket’s nose.
“You are a flattering whoosh,” it informs the rocket.
“I am a maker of storms,” says the little rocket. “I am a turmoil. I am a fire that consumes.”
“Not,” asks the butterfly, “a fashionable butterfly accessory?”
“No,” concedes the little rocket.
The butterfly heaves a sigh. “I must go higher.”
The little rocket flies through the air.
The little rocket passes over a nest. A mother bird is in the nest. She is crying because she thinks she might have lost one of her children. She is pretty sure that there used to be three chicks. Now there are two.
“If I’d only named her!” the mother bird mourns. “Then I’d know for sure.”
“That’s too bad,” thinks the little rocket.
The little rocket flies through the air.
The little rocket passes over a field. Two lovers are in that field: a woman with close-cut hair, and a man without a watch. They see one another for the first time in many years. They run slowly towards each other’s arms. They embrace.
“I must confess,” whispers Jim, into Della’s ear, “that they let me out of jail only so that I could find you, and turn you in.”
“And I,” says Della, “the same, regarding you.”
“Then let us return to the federal marshals,” declares Jim, impassioned, “together!”
The little rocket flies through the air.
There is a bird. It is flying. It is strong, and young, and very much lost.
“Are you my mother?” it asks the little rocket.
“No,” confesses the little rocket. “I am a terrible silence, and then a terrible light.”
“Oh,” says the bird.
“Fly east,” says the little rocket, “until the sun is lost behind the hills; and south, until the air has the scent of lavender. I think I saw your mother there.”
The little rocket flies through the air.
There is an angel beside it, and it asks, “What do you regret?”
“I have a thousand words for what will happen when I hit,” the rocket says, “but none for what will happen after.”
Categories: Legends, Hitherby, A Terrible Light, On Angels