Flying the Florida Sky

The animal flies the Florida sky, taking shape slowly, standing tall, silhouetted against the immense blue vault overhead.  He remains almost motionless while the wind plays over his majestic head and along his silvery-white sides.

He appears to examine the terrain spread out below, scouting for danger, perhaps, or seeking forage for his followers, barely visible on the near horizon.  But for all his caution, he seems unaware of the watcher.

The watcher is stretched prone in the cool, long grass, hands folded behind his head, studying the newcomer.  There’d been no prior indication he would appear, so his arrival—and the watcher’s opportunity to observe him—are serendipitous.

Neither moves for several minutes, as if they are sculpted, immobile.  Then, almost in slow motion, the animal appears to toss his head, perhaps calling for the others to rally to him.  In moments, he is joined by a horde of dappled, white-and-gray companions, all of whom seem to pay him homage.  They mingle around him, accompanying his slow sashay across the sky, flying majestically through the watcher’s field of vision.  It is a scene of pastoral serenity, magnificent in its simplicity.

After awhile, the watcher becomes cramped and restless.  Impatiently, he seeks a more comfortable position in his grassy vantage point, but almost instantly regrets it.  The animal seems to have sensed his gaze.  The watcher is no longer anonymous.

Flying above his followers, the animal turns toward the watcher, as if searching for the source of movement he detected.  A gust of wind races through his flowing mane, and he ducks his head sinuously, twisting away from the flow of air.

A moment later, he rises up again, this time turning his attention elsewhere, where he has sensed a more urgent source of danger.  As if by telepathy, the other, lesser animals shrink in fear, then scurry away toward the far horizon. 

Alone again, the animal turns to face the oncoming menace.  Once a shimmering white, he has darkened in colour now, taking on a bluish-gray tinge.  He rears in the face of the freshening wind, seeming to grow larger in stature.

The watcher, too, senses the looming threat, shivering involuntarily as the temperature drops ahead of an approaching summer afternoon storm.  In the distance, he hears an ominous roll of thunder, faint at first, but becoming louder as the moments pass.

Distracted, he turns his gaze momentarily away from the animal.  When the watcher seeks him out again, he has trouble finding him.  The animal has retreated from his prominent perch to follow his companions’ path.  The watcher picks him out, finally, away to the east and flying quickly—diminished, defeated.  Within seconds, the once-splendid animal is indistinguishable from the rest of the clouds.  No match for the incoming thunderheads, he has merged with the puffy throng that surrounded him, and has flown quickly away.

The watcher can taste his disappointment.  The courage, the majesty, the grandeur he had seen flying across the backdrop of the sky were but illusions.  And they vanished without a trace.

The watcher turns his attention to the onrushing storm clouds.  Dark, cobalt-blue at the bottom, rising through shades of gray to startlingly-white, frothy crests, they fly toward him with terrifying speed.  They are sundered in their stampede by intermittent flashes of lightning.  Their loud thunder speaks in constant voice.

With a last, reproachful glance in the direction of the escaping animal-clouds, the watcher joins them in their flight.  Rising reluctantly from his grassy roost under the Florida sky, he flees indoors.

The storm breaks violently overhead, and then it rains.

_{© J. Bradley Burt 2020}