A Tale of an Eagle Feather Quill

A Tale of an Eagle Feather Quill

The green hillside sloped into a narrow valley where patches of wild flowers appeared as a colorful quilt in the morning sunshine. My tears fell like rain upon the earth. I fell to my knees crying out to my Goddess. I was getting old and wondered what I had to show for my passage through this life. I had regrets and yet … the years had not been that bad, had they? Life as it used to be was a potpourri of memories. Many were heartbreaking, but there had been joyful moments, too. I thought of the times I had spent on this very hillside, watching the butterflies and birds and making wreaths of delicate blossoms for my lover’s hair.

The eagle came again
as he had
yesterday, the day before,
and the one before that.
Flying low,
then soaring
in ever widening circles.

I watched with fascination,
drawn by a primitive urge.
I wanted so much to be
part of the eagle’s world,
to soar above life’s fateful challenge,
to leave behind the bonds of hurt
to find hope again—
to be an eagle
and fly, fly, fly away.

Then, to my surprise,
the eagle landed
just steps away.
His tawny eyes
burned into mine,
fierce talons spread—
wild proud, and free.

I stood curiously unafraid, knowing that he meant no harm. His eyes communicated though at first I failed to understand. Then, as I watched in awe he fluffed his feathered cloak until he was enormous, as tall as a horse and just as strong. I knew what was expected of me and climbed upon his back and clasped my arms around his powerful neck. Then supported by his mighty wings we rose far above the ground in ever widening circles.

I felt his eagle muscles
as up and up we went
on wings of strength.
His crown of white
a beacon
to show the way,
to light our path.

We left my valley far behind,
crossed mountain ranges
capped with snow.
Sprawling cities
shrouded in pollution’s haze
Prairie as far as eye could see
with endless seas of waving grain.
Small towns.
White grain elevators and church steeples
reaching for the hand of God.

We were joined
by a female,
my eagle’s mate
who flew beside us for a while
before swooping downward
and crying in her eagle tongue,
“May the gods bless you
and may your journey
bring you what you seek.”

The coast fell far behind
as we crossed the blue green sea.
Below, freighters, small as rowboats,
their wakes
watery trails of glistening foam.
Schools of porpoise,
those sea dwelling ballet dancers
slicing through the water
in joyful symmetry.

We flew above a continent
rich in history.
Ancient cities, quaint villages,
hedgerows, and stone walls.
Small farms tucked into
fields of green.
A mountain range,
grand cathedrals of rocky spires.
All this and more
passed beneath my eagle’s wings.
We flew, lower now and slower.
I saw ancient Athens
and there, the Acropolis
standing aged upon its hill.

My eagle circled slowly
over olive groves.
We soared, then down
to a gentle landing.
I had arrived
but where and why
I did not know.

I dismounted, as commanded
and stood and watched
as my eagle flew away.
I was alone
in the warm Greek sunshine
not knowing what to do.
This was a different Greece
from the one I knew.
Somehow I’d been transported
to a time so long ago
when warlords ruled
with pagan gods.

Nearby, a tiny house
stood upon a knoll.
The door opened
and there she stood,
dark of hair
and brown of eyes.
She wore a tunic
of deepest green,
a sash of yellow
looped at the waist,
with sandals laced up to her knees.
In one hand she held a scroll
and in the other,
an eagle feather quill.

I wondered if I was dreaming when she smiled and beckoned me to come. I approached slowly, a little apprehensive, expecting my moment to lose the vision that had appeared before me. The vision was me. I had met myself in another time and knew then that every lifetime is meaningful and precious. The woman had my DNA. I didn’t need to test it. Her genes were mine. Her energy was my energy. I was she and she was me.

I awoke upon my hillside
when the sun was setting low.
I had, it seemed,
fallen asleep
upon the grass
just a little time ago.

I knew then what I must do to make my life worthwhile. It had come to me in a dream so vivid, so clear I could have sworn it really happened. I had traveled to Ancient Greece on the back of an eagle and found myself. I sat up and there, clasped tightly in my hand, was a perfectly beautiful eagle feather quill.

Vi Jones
© September 19, 2006