Today is a rare day. I have finally had the courage to tell him what the sky said to me all those years ago. That I am bound to its bloodline, though I can never know its true body. That I am, in essence, a peacock. Neither native nor foreign, just an iridescence doing what nature demands. “What a bunch of baloney,” I hear him say with his signature humor, like a splash of grenadine, as the sun pours its gold silt throughout the valley.
