Great Heights

(T/W Death and gore)

I stood atop a wind turbine with my safety rope disconnected, arms outstretched, and my face tilted toward the heavens. Fueled by the mighty breath that continuously sculpted the red soil of the Oklahoma plains, the circling blades made a cyclical motion that built anticipation within me as each great giant climbed from the earth to rise upright one hundred feet above me, praising the midday sun, only to genuflect and repeat the act. The generator’s gentle song hummed through the nacelle I was standing upon. My feet and legs tingled in the sonic vibrations. It was neither pleasurable nor painful; it was something in between—something beyond my control which enthralled me.

Jimmy, a longtime coworker I had convinced to follow me to the top, yelled, “We shouldn’t be up here without the blades feathered!” His hands clung to the side of the skylight hatch like the claws of a lobster, afraid to leave his trap. His face was pale, and his voice was strained as he pleaded, “Come on, Mike! Come back in here!”

“No. You should come out here with me,” I shouted back as I swayed side to side, enjoying the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I felt free—alive for the first time in years. At that moment, the anchoring grief of a career coming to its inevitable conclusion was winched from the sea floor’s sucking muck, at last, swinging freely in open waters, releasing my soul’s vessel and allowing it to rise in the ocean’s unpredictable swell.

A gust struck my body, sending my hard hat tumbling from my head, bouncing across the nacelle before springing from the edge and performing acrobatics on its journey to the sea of swaying grass some two hundred and twenty feet below. My balance was disturbed, and I swung my outstretched arms in tiny ellipses, trying to propel myself forward. The burst of air ceased abruptly, sending me staggering forward.

My front foot stomped down just short of the rotating hub, and all my weight hung over its planted position, the other foot weathercocking behind me. I stared down at the earth, the giants continuing their climbing and falling just inches from my face. Jimmy screamed, “Hold on, Mike! I’m coming for you!” I pictured his claws nervously releasing from the hatch’s edge and scurrying across the nacelle’s surface. But his attempt at advance would be too late. Curiosity was pulling me forward.

Slipping from the nacelle, I narrowly escaped the leading edge of a rising blade, its boundary air whipping at my pant leg. The wind rushed through my hair and filled my nostrils. But I was not afraid. I was ready for this—ready for change—ready to lead a new life.

Massive talons ripped through my boots. My fingernails split and were replaced with primary feathers.   The pores of my skin stretched wide, and quills sprouted forth, their size and strength shredding and discarding my clothing into lengths resembling celebratory streamers as they fell behind me. Curling into a sharp instrument, my nose hardened. Suddenly, my watery eyes were dried, and my vision widened to see the earth’s curved horizon and the multitude of critters stirring upon it.

I fell like a chick booted from its mother’s nest. Flailing all the way down, I was awkward. Never had I experienced anything like this. Everything was new. My mind dabbled in the murky waters of fear and regret. However, I chose to embrace a morbid certainty.

We all die no matter what.

This thought released me from fear’s paralysis. At first, my wings flapped sporadically. Then, the tips spread wide, gathering the wind beneath them. Still aiming downward, I plummeted.

As the ground raced toward me, I flexed my tail feathers downward, sending me sailing in a level trajectory with slight vertical oscillations as I learned the new skill. I floated through the tall Blue Grama grasses, their lashes tickling at my belly. I explored the envelopes of flight with some wild turns before climbing up and bleeding off my forward velocity. I flapped my new wings and began a slow ascent. The motion was exhausting, and I began to worry I could not sustain the routine. Then, a temperature change blanketed my body. It was a warm, turbulent, upward force with a musty hint of dust and decay. I was grateful for the lift of this invisible hand.

Once I was above the great height I had fallen from, I turned around and pointed back toward the wind turbine. I pulled my wings in and dove at it. I could see Jimmy down on all fours, looking over the front of the nacelle. I let out a scream to announce my return. Jimmy looked in my direction and rose to his feet. I passed by him at a tremendous speed, then pulled back up high into the sun's rays. I turned around and made another pass. This time, Jimmy took off his hard hat and swung it at me, yelling, “Get out of here!”

I tried to reply, but my words came out as a loud, echoing screech. I once again climbed and turned around. As I made another close pass, Jimmy swung his hard hat at me with such force that his momentum carried him over the edge.

I sent loud squawks down to him as I circled lower, trying to tell him to transform, but Jimmy was afraid, and his fear delayed his chrysalis. No shredded cloth streamers were celebrating his descent. No feathers sprouted from his skin. He fell to the ever-awaiting ground.

He struck with a resounding thud. The sound seemed to silence all natural chatter that encompassed us except for the hollow call of the blowing wind. The tall grass bent over his body, bowing in sorrow. Guilt filled my crop, its dark, slithering fingers tightening around my gullet. I had caused Jimmy to fall. I had coerced him into climbing to the top of the mechanical beast from which our livelihoods had been secured. He feared the unknown, and my fanciful soaring had spooked him. He could not decipher my cries, and he fell into despair.

I landed near his body and hopped upon his shoulder, pinching my sharp talons through his shirt to see if he was still living. He was not.

He had landed face up, his mouth frozen in a macabre expression. His eyes were opened wide, and his pupils pushed the boundaries of his blue irises. Blood seeped from the back of his head, mixing itself between the viridescent stalks and roots. I watched the transfer of life from man back to nature. I spread my wings above him, flapped them three times, and then leaped into the air, climbing away into the sun.

The wind surged, twisting the grass around Jimmy’s corpse. The animals and insects stirred, and nature’s chatter rose once again. The composite giants continued to rise and fall, and the generator’s song hummed on, unphased by Jimmy’s fall.