Standing in the swirling mist, among a thousand blackbirds in a cacophony of chirps and squeaks. Walking among them and watching as they peck the ground and hop busily. Focusing on a point in the mist where the swirls seem to emanate, my heart is pounding. The birds don’t take flight, they part as I walk through, clearing a path that winds on and on to the focal point a hundred feet away. The din is all around, an envelope of clatter that is somehow comforting despite the volume. Their eyes turn up to me as I pass by. They hop aside, three quick bounds, and when I’m past they return to their places, filling the path behind me like a lush velvet carpet that extends into the mist.
I have no idea what I’m seeing. The mist moistens my face as it swirls gently past me, settling into the outer extremities of my view and hanging there, unmoving. I continue forward along the path they make for me, walking deliberately toward the vortex.
The air grows warmer, the glistening mist is slick on my skin, like oil. It grows warmer still, against any explanation science could offer–nature does not create warm mist–but here I stand, at the crux, in an envelope of sweet smelling air rushing past me, a taste on my lips like butter melted. I peel off my clothes and welcome the embrace of the air now like the sweet breath of life itself.
The birds explode into the air with a sound like muted thunder. I can feel the breath of air off of every beat of every wing, pounding into flight along a nearly-parallel course with the ground, rushing past me, enfolding me within the depths of their numbers. A thousand tickles as feathered wings brush against my skin and they sail on the wing, their numbers uncountable, unending, a solid swift current of black, feathered satin.
Waking, panting, sweat glistening off my skin. I feel like I have just made love, am in love, am enveloped in love and warmth. She says, “How was that?”
And I laugh, because I feel like I’m on a moon of deserted beach, and she is the ocean of the universe, and I am surrounded by her, encapsulated in wonder. There are no words to tell her, the only thing I can think is, “I could die now.”
Infinity, a story by Matt Mitchell
Standing in the swirling mist, among a thousand blackbirds in a cacophony of chirps and squeaks. Walking among them and watching as they peck the ground and hop busily. Focusing on a point in the mist where the swirls seem to emanate, my heart is pounding. The birds don’t take flight, they part as I walk through, clearing a path that winds on and on to the focal point a hundred feet away. The din is all around, an envelope of clatter that is somehow comforting despite the volume. Their eyes turn up to me as I pass by. They hop aside, three quick bounds, and when I’m past they return to their places, filling the path behind me like a lush velvet carpet that extends into the mist.
I have no idea what I’m seeing. The mist moistens my face as it swirls gently past me, settling into the outer extremities of my view and hanging there, unmoving. I continue forward along the path they make for me, walking deliberately toward the vortex.
The air grows warmer, the glistening mist is slick on my skin, like oil. It grows warmer still, against any explanation science could offer–nature does not create warm mist–but here I stand, at the crux, in an envelope of sweet smelling air rushing past me, a taste on my lips like butter melted. I peel off my clothes and welcome the embrace of the air now like the sweet breath of life itself.
The birds explode into the air with a sound like muted thunder. I can feel the breath of air off of every beat of every wing, pounding into flight along a nearly-parallel course with the ground, rushing past me, enfolding me within the depths of their numbers. A thousand tickles as feathered wings brush against my skin and they sail on the wing, their numbers uncountable, unending, a solid swift current of black, feathered satin.
Waking, panting, sweat glistening off my skin. I feel like I have just made love, am in love, am enveloped in love and warmth. She says, “How was that?”
And I laugh, because I feel like I’m on a moon of deserted beach, and she is the ocean of the universe, and I am surrounded by her, encapsulated in wonder. There are no words to tell her, the only thing I can think is, “I could die now.”
“Infinite,” I say.
“It only gets better,” she laughs.
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