• Clay Wings

    The breeze was light and gentle. The sky was as blue as the water surrounding the marvelous island. Few white steaks of clouds were almost painted into the sky, the detail so precise. The greener than green grass had grown so tall that it was almost as tall as a corn stalk. The sun that lay almost still in the sky was like a golden medallion hanging off the neck of God. It was simply marvelous and quite beautiful.

    An old windmill, still in good shape, stood tall and proud on the edge of the island, catching the soft breeze that blew threw it's blades. The stone was a smoky color, some stones breaking a little. Patches of dead moss were built into little nests for cardinals and small robins in the crevices of the stone. A few windows were built into the tall windmill and a nice little door with a step. It was a small and comfortable house on the water on the island.

    The young girl lie in the grass, limbs sprawled out in it's tickling and warm feeling. Her short ebony hair swirled into her face with slight, constant breeze. Her bright blue eyes staring into the sky that matched them. "Sweet bliss," she muttered to herself happily. She closed her eyes once more to feel the breeze against hr pale skin. Joy and blissful.

    ~ ~ ~


    Inside the windmill house, a young man sat at the desk, staring contently out the window at the girl in the field. He ran a hand through his copper colored hair and fixed his eyes soft golden eyes on the young girl. He grinned contently and turned back to his papers. His brilliant ideas.

    The paper had a sketch upon it. It was a sketch of a pair of wings. 'Brilliant?' you may ask. But they were. Behind him, hanging in the empty space of the loft was a giant pair of auburn, tawny, and crimson colored feathered wings. It's frame was built of wood and clay. It was flexible and made to imitate the motions of a bird's wings. It was so beautiful, so well hand crafted. A perfect piece of art.

    He glanced up a moment and smirked. He saw the little clay angel sitting beside the photo of his young beloved. He picked up the small sculpture and examined it in his hands. It had little clay eyes and a smile carved into it. He looked at the wings. They were perfectly sculpted. The lines setting in just right, the feathery details so petite, yet so remarkably well done. He chucked softly and set it back down next to the smiling photo.

    * * *


    As the sun began to set in the sky, the colors painting themselves into their new places, the young man stood beside the young girl. His hands placed casually and relaxed in his pockets, the girl sitting up and leaning back on her hands. She looked up at her companion. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked him innocently. He chuckled softly and nodded in agreement, seating himself beside her.

    The young couple leaned against each other, her head resting on his shoulder, his head upon hers, their strands of hair tangling in with each others. They watched the sunset, like they did every evening, and enjoyed each others presence. The girl looked up at her beloved man and smiled, her eyes weary from a long day. She rubbed her eyes and looking into her lover's golden one's.

    "Garin? Can clay wings fly?" she asked him. Her curiosity made him smile and laugh softly. He kissed her forehead and looked back into her blue eyes.

    "Yes my dear. They most certainly can." he replied. He couldn't help it, but he remembered how she, his lover of everyday and life, made the clay wings in his own heart soar above the heavens.

    "They most certainly can."