Thunderbird came to me in the night. His iridescent wings
the colors of lightning spread across the breadth of the sky.
His beak jagged and sharp. I was only eleven then, having snuck
out to the back yard to watch the approaching storm.
He filled the Heavens, his voice a rumble of thunder.
"COME WITH ME." His eyes were filled with electricity as
he hovered above, brilliant static weaved through his feathers and
around his hooked, black claws.
To be in Thunderbird’s presence is to feel small and worthless,
as my voice was compared to His, "Why me?"
"YOU LOVE THE STORM," he crooned, "FLY WITH ME AND I WILL TEACH
YOU MY WAY."
Nodding, I rose to my feet and He lowered his proud head for me
to climb, taking me into the Heavens to play with the lightning He
conjured from his wings, crackling and searing the night.