{"id":75,"date":"2024-03-11T11:41:49","date_gmt":"2024-03-11T08:41:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/reflexfiction.com\/?p=75"},"modified":"2024-03-11T11:43:56","modified_gmt":"2024-03-11T08:43:56","slug":"my-father-comforts-me-in-the-form-of-birds","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/reflexfiction.com\/my-father-comforts-me-in-the-form-of-birds-flash-fiction-by-sharon-telfer\/","title":{"rendered":"My Father Comforts Me in the Form of Birds"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
SPRING 2018 FIRST PLACE<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Heron<\/strong><\/em> I take the roundabout too fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There it is, standing guard. I\u2019ve never seen one here. No water, only frozen fields. Sentinel grey, crunched into its awkward bones, those quilling eyebrows. Unmistakable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hear his voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHamba gashle.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that, Dad?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s Zulu. It means\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I whisper it back as the light fades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c\u2026Go safely.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I flip the visor against the falling sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Pheasant<\/strong><\/em> One stays grounded, escorts us like a maverick sheepdog hitching a walk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That look. \u201cDad?\u201d <\/em>Joking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It stops. Its feathers glint rainbows in the iced light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That sideways look. \u201cIs that you, Dad?\u201d <\/em>Half-joking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The absurd lens of grief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sparrowhawk?<\/strong><\/em> Roadside perch. Sharp eyes scanning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat do I always say?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cKeep your options open, Dad.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Robin<\/strong><\/em> This is not a clear day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Every voice feels winter-stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the branches, a spot of red, defiant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe robin keeps singing right through the winter.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Its sweet strain clarifies the clouded air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cVery few birds do that, you know.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The mist begins to lift, a little.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Goldfinch<\/strong><\/em> \u201cThey\u2019re back!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n From the kitchen window we watch a charm of gold glitter the garden.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Curlew<\/strong><\/em> \u201cThat day we found a nest, remember? The baby curlew? The parent bird circling overhead?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The wind lifts heady scent from the greening woods, scatters blossom like confetti, accepts the ash we offer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Skylark<\/strong><\/em> Lift your head. Turn your face to the full sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLook long enough, you will see it.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n There, infinitesimal in the infinite blue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Do you see him?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yes! There! Rising, singing, rising\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" SPRING 2018 FIRST PLACE HeronThe December tarmac\u2019s glazing treacherous black. My mind should be on the road, not with my mother, left in the echoing house. I take the roundabout too fast. There it is, standing guard. I\u2019ve never seen one here. No water, only frozen fields. Sentinel grey, crunched into its awkward bones, those […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-75","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blog"],"yoast_head":"\n
The December tarmac\u2019s glazing treacherous black. My mind should be on the road, not with my mother, left in the echoing house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We startle them into clattering flight. Survivors, seeing the New Year in against the odds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hard to tell. We pass so quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On a clear day you can see the hills he loved from here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The feeders have swung empty for months. We knock the nails in lower so Mum can reach, refill them with rich sunflower hearts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Spring loops in on that cool, clear call, back to breed on the hard, high moors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You hear it first, notes like diamonds etching glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n