Today she can fly.
I learned it in the afternoon, when I was fiddling about in the garden
and Judy was loafing in the sunshine she loves. Something apart from
sight and sound called me to hurry back to the house. I saw my angel
through the screen door before I opened it. One of her feet had caught
in a hideous loop of loose wire at a break in the mesh. Her first tug
of alarm must have tightened the loop so that her hands were not strong
enough to force it open.
Fortunately I was able to cut the wire with a pair of shears before I
lost my head; then she could free her foot without injury. Camilla
had been frantic, rushing around fluffed up, but--here's an odd
thing--perfectly silent. None of the recognized chicken-noises of
dismay. If an ordinary chick had been in trouble, she would have raised
the roof.
* * * * *
The angel flew to me and hovered, pressing her hands on my forehead.
The message was clear at once: "No harm done." She flew down to tell
Camilla the same thing.
Yes, in the same way. I saw Camilla standing near my feet with her
neck out and head low, and the angel put a hand on either side of
her scraggy comb. Camilla relaxed, clucked in the normal way, and
spread her wings for a shelter. The angel went under it, but only to
oblige Camilla, I think--at least, she stuck her head through the wing
feathers and winked.
She must have seen something else then, for she came out and flew back
to me and touched a finger to my cheek, looked at the finger, saw it
was wet, put it in her mouth, made a face, and laughed at me.
We went outdoors into the sun (Camilla, too) and the angel gave me an
exhibition of what flying ought to be. Not even Wagner can speak of joy
as her first free flying did. At one moment she would be hanging in
front of my eyes, radiant and delighted; the next instant she would
be a dot of color against a cloud. Try to imagine something that would
make a hummingbird seem dull and sluggish!
They do hum. Softer than a hummingbird; louder than a dragonfly.
Something like the sound of hawk-moths--_Hemaris thisbe_, for
instance, the one I used to call Hummingbird Moth when I was a child.
I was frightened, naturally. Frightened first at what might happen to
her, but that was unnecessary; I don't think she would be in danger
from any savage animal except possibly Man. I saw a Cooper's hawk slant
down the invisible toward the swirl of color where she was dancing by
herself. Presently she was drawing iridescent rings around him. Then,
while he soared in smaller circles, I could not see her, but (maybe she
felt my fright) she was again in front of me, pressing my forehead in
the now familiar way.
I knew she was amused, and caught the idea that the hawk was a "lazy
character." Not quite the way I'd describe _Accipiter Cooperi_, but
it's all in the point of view. I believe she had been riding his back,
no doubt with her telepathic hands on his predatory head.
Later I was frightened by the thought that she might not want to return
to me. Could I compete with sunlight and open sky? The passage of that
terror through me brought her swiftly back, and her hands said with
great clarity: "Don't ever be afraid of anything. It isn't necessary
for you."
Once this afternoon I was saddened by the realization that old Judy can
take little part in what goes on now. I can well remember Judy running
like the wind. The angel must have heard this thought in me, for she
stood a long time beside Judy's drowsy head, while Judy's tail thumped
cheerfully on the warm grass....
* * * * *
In the evening the angel made a heavy meal on two or three cake crumbs
and another drop of sherry, and we had what was almost a sustained
conversation. I will write it in that form this time, rather than grope
for anything more exact.