Of Winged Things

No harpyia, no thornbird, no phoenix no, no raptor of the glassy eye for me. When the mage offered me wings and said I must choose a bird for him to base them on, I thought of hummingbirds and nightingales, golden pheasants and birds of paradise, desiring the jeweled color, the nectared voice, the fanning sweep of feathered edge falling like night, like lashes, like spinning leaves — all kaleidoscopically.

My thoughts flew lofty and I thought of angels with the snow of mountains on their backs. Could I convince the mage they could reasonably be considered to be a type of bird? And as is the case with me, when I think of up I also think of down. And so I lusted after a fallen angel’s wings pointed at the tops like arrows and fletched with fire but silky to the touch and leaving marks upon one’s fingers — soot say some, INK says me.

The mage proved quite persuadable and left the definition of a ‘bird’ entirely to me just so long as said defining included wings in its boundaries.

And that is why you see me here in this surprising form after I gave thought contemplatively. There is no better definition of a bird than dinosaur, in this case a DRAGON, no better way of living flight than to burn with fire simultaneously. — Of Winged Things, a fairytale by Annette Marie Smith

How Sea Angels Came To Be, a Fairytale

seaangels
Photo from the book “Ocean Drifters: A Secret World Beneath the Waves”. Photo and book by Dr. Richard Kirby.

The angels cried
when they saw the way that the water clove to the earth
the way that even though the water left
it always returned again,
the mystery of the water’s caress that filled the world with sighs
of wonder, of pleasure
and their tears, as they fell, became part of the symphony
of oneness between those two, the water and the world
and took on form and shape akin to the angels who had cried them.
The tears fluttered sea wings and flew in the deep, deep sea.
— By Annette Marie Smith

Snowglints

Sunglints hitch a ride on snowflakes falling softly,
cause them to sparkle like earring-sized disco balls,
like lapel pins for brownies; crown jewels for a Clara crown.
       They
                 scatter
                           the
                                     ground
looking like a miniature goddess left her jewelry box unattended
and every fairy with mischievous hands and a magpie eye for bright
pilfered her box and showered her gems to the ground.
— Annette Marie Smith

Spellstruck

sarolta-ban-5
Photoallegory by Sarolta Bán.

Spellstruck
By Annette Marie Smith

Despite all his efforts
the snow continued to fall
and he remained in bear form
and his one true love remained
a bird.

The snow fell, obliterating
the words to the reversal spell
faster than he could read them
and commit them to memory.

The pages beneath his heavy paws finally slipped
into the surrounding snow
and disappeared.

His one true love looked on him
with a beady eye.

He could only hope that it was the bird
form that made her look
disapproving so.