Lifted

Cardinals, finches, chickadees flock    to our feeders. Up to four thousand featherson each bird's little body. On a tundra    swan: twenty-five thousand. "Light as a feather,"we like to say, as opposed to "this    too too solid flesh," or my stiff and creakingjoints. But even dry feathers aren't    so light. Headdresses Las Vegas show girlswear will hold two thousand plumes,    weigh twenty pounds. All the rage, feathers,especially for hats in the late nineteenth    century. Women's toques were even toppedwith stuffed whole birds. In 1886,    on the streets of New York, Frank Chapmancounted over forty species of feathers    on bonnets, caps, cloches, down brims. I guesswe earthbound humans have always    yearned to fly. I'm no Icarus, but oh, how I wishI could transform my flabby arms    into wings. Last June as I stepped onto a GulfCoast pier, I stopped. Two yards    down on the wooden slats stood a great blueheron. We stared at each other for,    I swear, ten minutes, before he opened wide hislong wings and, shrieking, flew off to    a hill beyond, a sight staying with me whereverI drop my feet. Sometimes when I'm    happy, I'll flap my arms. Just feeling that motionmakes me smile. During Brahms's Fourth     Symphony last night, as I leaned my aching backagainst the concert hall's padded seat,    the violinists' bows rose like feathery quills, anda thousand listeners sprouted wings.