Sky Gifts

The old woman loved her lake. No, that wasn’t true. The lake hid the deep green-brown depths of a cold water world. It frightened and repulsed her. Who knew what dead things rotted in its depths? Pushing off from her lake home’s dock; she decided she needed a new word to represent what she loved about her habitat.

On this sunny autumn afternoon, she pulled the oars of her boat over the boundary between water and sky. Warm or chilly temperatures didn’t matter, since many self-embroidered sweatshirts and T-shirts filled her closet.

A curious vision made her lift the oars inside the boat. A large sycamore leaf floated toward her in the air like a glowing orange ember. It wasn’t a real ember, but it glowed in the sunshine like one. She reached out and claimed it from the sky. It was so fragile in death. Yet, perhaps she could use this gift in some artwork.

Immediately, a new vision delighted her. A barn owl feather rode upon the boundary of lake and sky. Was the water pretending to offer it to her? The lake lied. She knew a feather was also a sky gift.

If her lake sent a genuine gift from the water, it would have been a bloated fish carcass. Her lake was mean. Even if it offered something alive, such as an underwater plant, soon it would die and rot. No, never would she take a gift from the lake. But she could retrieve this delicate owl feather. Like the leaf, it held a death magic that kept it beautiful. Oh, how she loved her gifts from the sky. Stroking the feather between her fingers, she purposed to find a fresh word to represent what she loved about her lake shore home.

Word count: 299