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PlumageOnce every century, there is an internal calling to bring us together. It compels us to travel back to a lonely island of rocks and waves. To come home to the place of our birth, we shed our humanity and become one with our winged-brethren.Plumage
Beneath the endless stretch of the grim sky, I stand feeling the gentle embrace of sand at my feet. One by one faraway stars wink out of sight as the sun sails above the horizon. I wait. The rhythmic crash of waves lulls away my human consciousness.
It begins.
Fine lines appear against the stars' dying light to cover every inch of my human form. Layer by layer they pe
by ~bonnichow
Aves ChansonLittle bird with obsidian eyes and indigo body Tell me of your travels and of what you saw Descend from high above, rest your wings Sit on my shoulder and sing your pretty songAves Chanson
Little bird with the clever long thin beak Hum the deep bass and high trebles Of man’s curious movements, sounds and sights Teach me the language of cities
Little bird, tiny lover of sweet nectar Whisper what you know into my ear Of the people who forgot our mother Let me learn to speak, let me enter their world
Little bird with tireless wings that carried you afar C
by ~bonnichow
The OneiroiAt Erebus' shadowy western border the cooling waters of Lethe flow into the ocean. There is a sheltering cavern on the sandy shores where four brothers sleep. Their black-winged forms curl in a bed made of elm filled with lavender and poppy. As they toss and turn, the crushed flowers release a calming odor. In daylight hours they lay together, a tangle of limbs.The Oneiroi
There is Morpheus, shaper of human dreams; Icelus, bearer of the mirror of reality; Phobetor, sender of fearsome images; and Phantasos, the trickster with uncanny messages.
They are the lords of eveningland, the realm of dreams.
by ~bonnichow
In the Waiting LineTick tock. Tick tock.In the Waiting Line
Above a clock was ticking in the quiet room. The line moved out of sync with the clock – a shuffling here and there or a slight movement as someone sought to find a more comfortable position. From somewhere up ahead, the crinkling of paper and scratches of a pen across its surface where the only other sounds. The soft noises that accompanied the shifts in movement bounced around the room of black and white floor and aged wooden walls.
Feet hurting in what seemed like a never-ending wait; he tapped the shoulder of the person in front. T
by ~bonnichow
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