Weightless is how she thought she would feel the first time she changed – and flew as a bird. An owl, winging its way through a darkening sky. But strong is how she felt. Strong chest muscles beat her wings, creating lift. Rising through the air, soaring. Dancing on a breeze. Cool fingers of fog caressing her face as she raced through the sky.
The dark shapes of tall fir trees loomed, limbs outstretched, waiting for her to land. Home.
A skittering through dry leaves caught her eye. A mouse scurrying home for dinner. Maybe it would be dinner, she thought, her golden eyes gleaming. Sharp beak, soft fur, warm blood, the crunch of bone. No, she decided, I’m not ready for that. The mouse can live another day.
From her perch high in the tree, she watched the ribbon of river catch the last glimmer from the setting sun. Sparkling on its slow journey to the bay.
Sharp scents of dry leaves, soil giving up its warmth after baking in the afternoon sun. A breeze fluttering by. The unearthly white glow of the rising moon. Full tonight. Bathing the world with its cool, soft light. Lighting the way home.
Sighing, she spread her wings and floated through the soft night air to land in her garden. Folding her wings, she stood again as a woman. She turned and stretched her arms towards the moon in supplication. “Thank you, mother,” she said, “for showing me life from a different perspective.”
She turned and walked into her warm kitchen for tea. Not mice.