OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN original paper collage

He got off work at the sawmill, climbed into the Pontiac. He sat there and drank a beer, admiring the key which was shaped like the head of an Indian Chief. He finished that one, popped the top on another one. It was raining. He put the key into the ignition and turned on the radio. He didn’t know the singer but she sounded like Loretta Lynn. Was it Loretta Lynn? The station was fuzzy but he liked how the sound came and went and he could hear snippets of her voice. He drove in the direction of home but halfway there decided to drive up the old logging road. He drove, drinking another beer. He felt warm and numb even though the air was cool, crisp. The rain slowed so he pulled onto a side road and turned off the car. He was sleepy.

As the rain stopped and the sun started to peek out from behind a gray whale of a cloud, he climbed out, grabbed another beer and started walking, going nowhere. He was humming the song from the radio. It has to be Loretta Lynn, he thought. The words were coming back to him.

Suddenly he slipped. Before he could get his hands out, he landed squarely, cracking his head on the edge of a stump. He must have blacked out because when he awoke he noticed the sun was hot on his face. His head still hurt so he moved his hand to feel the edge of his hair but where his hand used to be there were now…feathers? He looked around and found that his head just kept turning, almost all the way around. Moving both arms quickly, almost in a panic, he lifted himself off the ground. He landed back down with a thud on two chunky dinosaur-like feet with protruding claws. He opened his mouth to speak but only a hissssss came out, a guttural sound that was more like a barking dog than a voice. Bewildered, he sat, crouched, his newfound wings tucked into his sides. He blinked and looked at the surrounding tree stumps, ferns, rusted beer cans, mushrooms. His old two legged body was nowhere to be found. He would have to get used to his new feathered vehicle.