Fury in the Pheasant's Wings
For the first time in a long time, clouds covered the Great Plains and Pheasant knew what would come next. For months, a drought had waged war on this beautiful part of the country, wrapping it in a feverish heat and thirst for what seemed like an eternity. All the animals, including Pheasant himself and the humans alike who Pheasant had seen gathering with clasped hands had prayed for a merciful end to this miserable drought. And now the sky was covered in sheets of cloud as gray as the fur of the wolf, and these clouds covered the entire area from the hills of Dakota to the prairie of Nebraska, all the way down to the wheat fields of Kansas which Pheasant would eat from in times of plentiful rain. Pheasant could see the sunlight, once the calling card of an oppressive and evil yellow-clad dictator now weakly shooting through the gray clouds, and he saw what looked like human figures covered in yellow light dancing up and down.
Silent anticipation by both humans and animals had crept over the Great Plains, an air of suspense so great over the Badlands and through the small villages near Topeka, the entire universe seemed to come to a standstill at the sound of a whisper of an infant child and a governor's prayers. Yes, all the humans in the village had been quietly awaiting this moment, petitioning the King of the Universe to end this drought and they were not alone in their petitons. Pheasant needed rain and so did many others in order to survive and not die of thirst, or the hunger that came when the sky did not yield water.
Pheasant's friend and compatriot in the skies, Hawk ended his flight over Kansas to find as he saw the east horizon fill with dark rain-bearing clouds known to the weathermen as cumulonimbi, though to the animals and many of the humans, these clouds from a major squall that originated over the Great Lakes would be known as Salvation. Both of the birds knew the weather far better than any human could ever hope to learn- they knew the minute changes in wind direction through their feathers which would signal fair weather, or rain, or a severe storm, or even the dreaded wind-funnel, capable of ruining entire towns of both humans and animals. Their suspicions of rain were confirmed when they heard the loud and shattering explosions of thunder. With that, they knew- the birds could absolutely certain that the sky after months of not giving anything at all was about to issue forth torrents of much-needed rain.
And soon Pheasant and Hawk had to take to the air once more as the earth trembled- many thousands of hooves of the Buffalo Tribe were rocking the earth in a joyous parade to celebrate the rain. There would be mud in their hooves tonight for the first time in ages. And Pheasant and Hawk and Buffalo and Coyote and all the members of the Plains called out a cry of thanksgiving for the Keeper of the Plains who had given them this long-awaited rain. These cries took the form of yelps and squawks and cries, and for the human beings spoken language expressing thanks that finally the rain had come to wash away the sadness of a long and hot summer. The prairies were calling out His name.
It told Pheasant that someone was tending the prairie and, the entire universe for that matter. And He had heard the cries of his creation and that there is still a faith that can make the heavens surrender their rain and even make the Rockies move. And there was still a love that could make the entire earth sing- in fact, Pheasant was now part of a grateful choir of animals and humans singing in praise of this rain and the King who brought forth the order that it should refresh the land. He remembered how he had once taken Hawk to see the place where the rivers once held sacred by the ruddy-skinned humans who lived in these lands before the fairer-hued men did just to feel the coolness and beauty of that place.
And Hawk had told Pheasant once something he had learned from Coyote- that in the secret place where morning gathers and the flaming colors of the sunset accented the sky, you would look upon infinity and would be fortunate enough to witness something that only certain humans would ever know. How the Keeper of the Plains had the whole world in his hands and there was no corner of the world which escaped his eye or his grasp. And the stagnant soul of both human and animal would be shaken forward and shaken free of the sluggishness and the sadness and feel the flame of life within. And when they witnessed the rain now barraging the earth with its vivacity and vigor, the people and the animals would run wild with hope and celebrate this anticipated miracle. The hot and oppressive summer had finally come to an ending, sweeter and more glorious than anything Hollywood could have ever devised. The dried-out gulches, which once were filled with life-giving water would be restored to their original and pristine status, much to the delight of Duck and the Fishes who lived underwater. Everything was being restored and born again in this deluge of water.
This terrible thirst had lasted long enough and now finally, it was being drowned in a song sung out of joy and celebration, not a song sung in vain. And all the members of the Great Plains would take part in this celebration. There was fury in the Pheasant's wings- he could feel the thunder in the sky, he could see the sky about to rain, and with the rest of the prairies he was calling out God's name.
In loving memory of Rich Mullins (1955-1997).