What I remember most is lying next to its body and imagining the great white bird in flight. I have no idea of the amount of time that passed in the preparation of the swan. And, using my own saliva as my mother and grandmother had done to wash my face, I washed the swan’s black bill and feet until they shone like patent leather. I looked for two black stones, found them, and placed them over the eyes like coins. The small dark eyes had sunk behind the yellow lores. Untangling the long neck which was wrapped around itself was more difficult, but finally I was able to straighten it, resting the swan’s chin flat against the shore. I lifted both wings out from under its belly and spread them on the sand. ![]() Its body was still limp-the swan had not been dead long. ![]() I knelt beside the bird, took off my deerskin gloves, and began smoothing feathers. Most likely, a late migrant from the north slapped silly by a ravenous Great Salt Lake. There was no blood on its feathers, no sight of gunshot. ![]() Its body lay contorted on the beach like an abandoned lover.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |