Glow of Admiration

The morning’s sunlight was brilliant: not hot, but warm; still, the vibrantly colored peacock retreated from its touch resting within the shade cast from a tractor. He had been caught from the jaws of a dog years earlier and struggled to survive; now, missing one spur, and years advancing, he appeared, without being capable of forming words, crotchety. I say this because he seemed to appreciate being adored from a distance: as a lover spurned, touching was denied.

Anyway, he called that harsh, and biting, yet beautiful call that shattered the morning’s peace while silencing all other birds and received a response from an elusive companion. Oh, they are not lovers. Well, they could be despite being both male. Animals are private in their way, so they do not reveal their truths.

Well, I watched him resting, and I whispered to him until his ‘companion’s’ call startled from being louder, and nearer; then, I turned: Imagine a stone arch framing a brick wall faced with crumbling white paint, and a sharp line of demarcation, distinguishing sunlight from shadow, falling over it. A white peacock stepped beyond the line, and, with the sunlight’s touch, he tipped his head slightly while raising one foot. He was as precisely poised as the ornately carved figures emblazoning the cathedral’s walls behind me, rather, a bride stepping into the glow of admiration.

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