We watch him, a tormented soul, standing on the grassy easement of a narrow two-way street near our house.
It’s Easter morning. The sun has just risen so the traffic is light. Those who were going to the sunrise service are singing hymns celebrating the empty tomb. The sleepy-heads are still sleeping in their beds waiting for the second resurrection.
He waddles to the curb and as he is about to step onto the street, the car comes from around the bend so he hops back to safety. He hesitates for a while, gathering courage for the next attempt.
On the other side his three friends look helplessly, waiting for him to join their party.
His next attempt is interrupted with the speeding motorcycle zooming from the opposite direction.
He races back as fast as his short webby feet would allow him. Back onto the green. Back to safety.
With each failed attempt the road grows wider and more menacing to his unblinking eye. Practically impassable.
I can’t stand watching his tortured existence any longer.
I look to the right and to the left - the road clear - I spread my arms wide, a featherless monstrosity flailing furiously, bearing down on him full speed.
The prospect of becoming an unexpected addition to the main course of an Easter banquet, overrides his paralysis of fear.
For a split-second I think I gave him a heart attack, before he lifts off and flies across the road.
When he safely lands among his friends, I don’t think he fully realizes yet that he has wings… that he can fly. The adrenaline is still rushing through his body, a whale of a story forming inside his little head to tell anyone who is willing to hear.
His terrifying attempts to cross the road. The feeling of being stuck. Alone. The hopelessness. The paralyzing fear. The ugly mean giant who viciously attacked him...
... when it finally hits him,
I can FLY!