A daughter dies, and she is found, in the cerulean movements of birds. Not a hawk. Mother Sky says those are for boy’s souls.
The father sees mockingbirds building a nest of pine twigs in the corner frieze of the portico and imagines a flash of her smile in there frequent swoops to his shoulders as he dares to fetch the mail.
This is not a defensive attack, he thinks, not really harpies. Maybe a hello? Maybe her just checking in? It made sense. She was always hiding in high places.
She once was found sleeping in a crag of Old Wauhatchie Pike on one joint climb. She often danced on the roof, sketch pad in hand, until she found the perfect angle to stencil either the setting or rising sun.
The mockingbirds screeches waking him in the morning were an act of love, maybe, turning a casual belief into a hopeful faith.
It was silly for him to think that the mockingbirds were his daughter’s soul.
But then the father thought of Icarus every time the mockingbirds would rise and soar high in the drafts until there glint vanished into the sun. He rebelled at the thought that Mother Sky would reserve waxen wings for a foolish boy.
His daughter had made herself silken wings. He knew that, had harnessed them to her back, leaving this butterfly in the babysitter’s care while they went to attend the opera.
After the tuck in she scrambled onto the roof determined to sketch the rise of the moon, and knowing that anything was possible, she closed her eyes and leapt.
He remembered the babysitter’s frantic call to come home, NOW! Then, there was just the echo of his daughter’s laughter. Maybe?
He could see her flying high in the day sky even though the night, the real night, had queened her kingdom to the existence of her swaying silently between pine and earth, her feet never touching the ground.
He wanted to tell her to come down. TO COME DOWN NOW. But he could not. She was too high up, lost in the promise of flight. And he was too small.
He let her go. Let her fly away from him on silken wings that never melted. Proud to see her fly so high, even in his dark.