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    Feathers Gets His Mojo
    Feathers Gets His Mojo
    Feathers Gets His Mojo
    Ebook81 pages1 hour

    Feathers Gets His Mojo

    By Johnny Benet

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    About this ebook

    Feathers life was his flock. They flew out to sea to fish with the rising sun, they bedded down in the tall marsh grass as the darkness fell. Always as one.

    But then Feathers saw an eagle for the first time, and everything changed.

    What Feathers discovered then was worse than his worst fear, and better than his best hope. Most of all, it was more than he could have ever imagined.

    His story is about the end. His story is about the beginning. His story is about somewhere out there, across sea and sky, finding home.

    Is home a hearth, a hometown, a native country?

    Or, just maybe, is it somewhere out there…

    Waiting for you to arrive.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBrick Wall Publishing
    Release dateMar 9, 2018
    ISBN9781386791256
    Feathers Gets His Mojo
    Author

    Johnny Benet

    Johnny Benet was born and raised in Michigan. He currently lives overseas with his wife and two sons. 

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      Book preview

      Feathers Gets His Mojo - Johnny Benet

      Feathers would always wonder what had made him do it. Was it seeing an eagle for the first time? Had something passed from the eagle to him? Some kind of wildness or independence? Or aloneness?

      Or was it seeing Grey, one of the old birds, falter and fall out of the flock? Grey's dying was not remarkable. The flock lost birds every year - it was the way it had always been. The birds of the flock just closed ranks to fill the hole that Grey had left. Like he had never been of the flock at all. Feathers had never noticed that when other birds had fallen away. This time he did notice, and it made him wonder: would the flock just close ranks and forget him when his wings finally stopped?

      Or maybe the reason he had done it had nothing to do with any of that. Maybe it was just something wrong in his makeup.

      Whatever the reason was, what Feathers had done was a first for the flock. There was nothing in flock lore anything like it.

      He guessed he would never know why. But he did know one thing. He was not sorry. Even with all that happened after, he was not sorry.

      FISH HAD BEEN PLENTIFUL and near the surface that morning, and Feathers had fed well. Power rippled through his wings as he flew effortlessly though a transparent sky empty of everything but the warming morning sun.

      But of course the sky only appeared to be empty. Those that moved through it knew the sky held winds and breezes, gusts and eddies. Some days it carried cold winds from the north fresh with the clean smell of snow. Other days brought breezes that came off the land, full of earth scents.

      The sky could shake Feathers with a sudden gust, or drive him down twenty wingspans in an instant with an eddy, so fast that his insides tingled and he felt upside down.

      And it was not just its ebb and flow that changed. The sky could frame the sun in a startling blue background or cover her with cloud, nestling her deep in its breast like a mother covering her single precious egg. Some days it brought clouds to sport with, driving them across the sky so fast that Feathers could not pace them no matter how hard he flew.

      And its colors. The sky colored with purple twilights and pink dawns, with cyan and blue and gray. Some days it dressed itself in thin delicate streams of wispy white cloud, as fine as the down on a starling. Other times it rose up into great majestic towers of cloud, so immense that they made Feathers heart draw in with awe bordering on fear.

      The sky was so immense it even colored the sea below. The deep sea that held fish and life and things no bird would ever see. The sky could turn the sea blue or green, black or gray. Some days its surface glittered in the sun, other days found it dark and ominous under cloud shadow.

      They were two great oceans, one of air and one of water. Feathers knew the ocean of air and sky. Of the sea he knew a only a little from when he fished, fast shallow dives into the cold and dark - but what lay down deeper, only the fish knew.

      That morning the wind carried him gently as he soared above a glittering blue sea highlighted here and there with white foam from a breaking wave. The sky around him and over the shore was so clear you could almost see the afternoon sun’s rays cut through it. Out seaward, way out almost at the edge of sight, a dark cloud bank covered the horizon. There was a hint of rain in the air. 

      Feathers was not alone. In front of him, behind him, to his left and right, above and below, were birds. The flock. The occasional light snap of a wing cutting the wind, a caw from somewhere near: their sounds blended with wind sounds in a song.

      But being of the flock was more than being with the other birds. The flock was something bigger than all of them. And Feathers belonged.

      The flock was security, it was wholeness, it was something each of them was born into. From one end of the flock to the other they flew as one - Feathers did not fly as Feathers, he flew as flock - the decision to turn was not Feather's decision to make - in fact Feathers never decided to turn, or direct his flight, at all. He just flew. He just knew. And the others did too.

      It’s not as if thought instantaneously moved across the flock from one bird to another, telling each what to do. It was not a lead bird thinking turn and then that thought rippling through the flock to the others. No. The lead bird was actually no different from the rest. Feathers knew. He had flown in lead position. They all had. It was no different up there.

      When the flock flew there were no individual birds. They joined together to form one flock and the flock guided each of them. It was a great mystery. It was a great act of faith. Except that Feathers had been born to it so that it came as naturally to him as breathing. In fact he had never really thought about it. It was just the way things were.

      Until that day he saw the eagle flying alone, high up, so high he seemed but a dark speck soaring across the sky.

      Turning.

      Flying.

      On his own.

      It was a beautiful day of fishing and flying. A normal day. When the sun sank low in the sky the flock veered towards land and their bedding down place for the night - the flock's nesting grounds. Like they had always done.

      But that day was different. That day Feathers did something that he was sure no bird of the flock had ever done.

      It happened so fast Feathers did not remember thinking about it at all. It just seemed to happen all on its own.

      He did not turn towards land with them.

      Feathers looked back to the flock in surprise and wonder. They closed ranks

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