A Curious Moon

By Makena Metz

Aquarius 𖤓 | Capricorn ⏾ | Sagittarius ↑

Epiphany Spurling woke every morning to the sound of birdsong. She usually blinked awake in the warm sunlight streaming through her open windows and stretched until she felt her spine crack for England.

This morning, Epiphany did not so much wake, as groggily shudder into consciousness. Stiff, she sat up in bed, her joints already twinging, and tried to smack the taste of cotton balls out of her mouth.

“Now, where did I put those glasses?” She muttered to herself, clambering out of the covers and to her feet. Though her legs were spindly, and her body shrunk a quarter of an inch every year, she didn’t mind the changes in her stature. She held herself as straight and balanced as she could, and was resigned to the knowledge that brittle bones were an effect of becoming old.

“Ahh, there you are.” She pulled on a pair of brown turtle shell glasses that made her bedroom appear more solid. There was the armoire with her usual denim overalls, and the green chaise that had somehow survived three moves. There was a picture of her daughter, Hanna, where she was merely eight years old. She was laughing on a swing, face lit up in the pure joy of childhood.

If only Hanna had given her a grandchild. Epiphany sure looked the part of a grandmother – she had grayish white hair and bony hands, wrinkled skin with sun spots from spending time in the garden.

She stood up, pulling on the worn, terry-cloth bathrobe she always wore, and creaked open her bedroom door. Epiphany thought it was odd to shut it, since she was the only one using it, but old habits died hard.

She wandered to the kitchen, watered the plants, shook dried porridge into a pot with water and placed it on the stove. She turned the gas on with a soft click and left the pot to warm. She poured water into the teapot and set that to boil too. The sound of birds chirping drifted through the windows, sounding like home.

Even though she missed Hanna, at least she had the sparrows. And she’d see her daughter soon enough for her birthday, anyways.

Epiphany tended to her breakfast, occasionally stirring the oats until they thickened, then scooped out a portion into a bowl. She poured water out of the kettle into a mug with a teabag that smelled sweet and spiced. She brought it all to the dining table, gathered some nuts and seeds, some milk and honey, and then sat down to enjoy.

The table was worn with marks from forks and knives, and even one scorch mark from a Boxing Day fondue gone wrong. Yes, the table was just as scarred as she was- a whole life’s worth of stories in the scratches and lines.

Epiphany’s finger traced the divots and dents on the table as she squeezed honey onto her oats and added sugar to her tea. Then she lifted up a sunflower seed to the top of her head, feeling the rough edge of the birds’ nest against her curls. Something rustled inside, vibrating the edges. Then, a tiny beak pecked at her fingers, stealing the seed for itself.

Epiphany smiled. Yes, she was alone, but she had her birds.

· ✶ · ─ ·⏾· ─ · ✶ ·

The garden was a mess- some animal had been through it, digging up the turnips and chewing on the aubergine. Hands on her hips, Epiphany clicked her tongue at the damage. She felt one of the sparrows hop inside its nest on her head. Sometimes, she could sit for hours and let the tiny vibrations of the birds nestle inside her skull.

She sighed, knowing today was not one of those days. There was work to be done and blue skies with a strong, cool wind to do it in. So she picked up her pink, floral gardening gloves and got to work.

Epiphany kneeled in the dirt, wincing at the pressure on her joints. Then she replanted the turnips and picked the weeds from the potatoes. She plucked the rest of the aubergines from the curling vines, checked on her not-yet-fruiting tomato plants, and then wiped the back of her hand on her sweating forehead.

Epiphany was just considering crawling out of the soil to have a second cup of tea when a shape launched out of the nest on her head. Her eyes tracked it- one of the fledgling sparrows was flying! The young bird flew across her garden, landing on the top of her wooden fence. Then- another!

Awe and joy made her hands tremble as she watched the little brown creature flap over to its sibling. The parents joined them after, flying from the nest on her head to the fence posts at the end of the garden.

One more to go. She stayed very still, holding her breath as the last sparrow shuffled on top of her head and then- it flapped its wings and soared overhead into the bright sunlight.

Epiphany gasped as a gust of wind blew through her hair, and the tiny sparrow blew into a wind chime with a crashing tinkle. “Oh!” She exclaimed, pushing herself up to her feet.

Epiphany looked up at the sky as the bigger sparrows, the parents, took off from the fence. They soared over the little ones- who spread their wings and raced after their parents in the blink of an eye. “No, wait, you forgot one!” She called, but her voice became lost in the wind.

Epiphany cautiously stepped towards the wind chimes hanging from a trellis. The one made of sea glass slowly clinked together, and she paused to listen for any chirps hidden under the sound. Scanning the ground, she let her ears do the rest. Epiphany let her eyes unfocus as they traced over the grass, and then she heard it- a tiny cheep.

There it was! The small brown bird was easy to see against the green grass and dandelion stems, but Epiphany frowned as she realized it was hopping, holding its wing at an upright, odd angle.

“Now let me get at you-” She muttered to the bird, hovering over it, casting a shadow. She bent down as the bird chirped, and her heart stuttered. The wing was definitely broken.  

She clicked her tongue. Ever so slow, she squatted down and placed her hands at the sparrow’s sides. Then slowly, slower- she closed them around the sparrow, scooping it up as she stood, joints creaking in protest.

Epiphany ignored the aching and walked right into the house, feeling the bird’s tiny feet dig into her palms like splinters. “Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed at the sparrow. “Your family will be back for you, mark my words. We just need to fix you up so you can fly.”

So, she popped the bird back into the nest on her head, and off they went into town.

· ✶ · ─ ·⏾· ─ · ✶ ·

Everyone in the village knew that Epiphany Spurling carried birds in a nest on her head. The old baker wasn’t sure how it balanced atop her curls, and the newest seamstress thought it was some kind of practical joke, but most people accepted the strangeness of it regardless. After all, there wasn’t much to do in this part of the country – better let people mind their own business than start trouble.

Epiphany wandered down the cobblestone street, her pulse jumping anytime the sparrow on her head let out a particularly loud chirp. She knew it must be in pain, so she tried to keep her gate steady and her head from turning or bouncing. She passed the old pub, the Hound’s Tail, and the little fish n’ chips shop that was more of a stand than a proper shop, and then the ale house that competed with the Hound’s Tail on a nightly basis. She thought there were too many pubs in this town – she hadn’t frequented one in years.   

As she walked up to the library, an older man with weathered skin and gray hair waved to her from polishing an iron statue of a child reading.

“Oh my God! I’m having an epiphany!” He called to her, guffawing at the old joke.

A bit tersely, she replied, “Hello, Rodger.” But she lifted her hand in greeting as one blue eye winked at her.

“Good afternoon, love. Having a stroll about town?”

“I’m borrowing a book, Rodger.”

“Ah well, here’s the right place.”

“Yes, quite.”

She clicked her tongue as she strode up the steps and through the front doors. She whispered up to the bird, “I can’t believe I was married to that man.” The sparrow cheeped in response.

Epiphany had once been swept off her feet by a younger Rodger McGuff. But as the years had blurred together, she realized that she was in love with routine and stability – not the man. She’d divorced him after communing with Hanna about it, which was slightly embarrassing since he was her father. But Hanna had understood, just like Epiphany knew she would.

The library was cold, which was a welcome relief after all the heaving and ho-ing in the garden. Epiphany stepped through the lobby, sweat cooling on her forehead, her footsteps tapping on the tile.

She smiled at the young woman behind the counter. “Bethany, how’s your mum?” The pretty librarian shrugged. “Same as always, you know she drinks for the Queen.”

Epiphany winced in sympathy and then scanned her library card at the kiosk.

“Her mother is an alcoholic,” she muttered to the bird. “Bethany doesn’t know how to help her. But then again, no one ever does.”

Epiphany wandered through shelves, her tired eyes looking for some kind of animal husbandry section. “Maybe there’s a veterinary encyclopedia somewhere…” 

Eventually, her legs became tired from walking the stacks, and she decided to find a reference desk. Another librarian, this time younger and with auburn hair, blinked up at her from a computer.

“Why, hello Miss Spurling. Need any help today?”

Epiphany eyed him, thinking, was that boy there Young Tommy? Young Jimmy? It was Bernard’s boy, she knew that much. She pressed her tongue against a molar, letting the thought drift away. It was too much to expect her to remember every lad’s name in town.

She gestured to the nest on her head. “This bird up here has a broken wing. I’m trying to find a book that will teach me how to fix it.”

Young Philip smiled at her, tapping his fingers on the keys before him. He glanced at the computer screen. “I can direct you to some medical books on animals, but the system says there’s nothing about birds here. There’s a book at the next library over but it won’t be here for a week’s time.”

Epiphany sighed as her stomach turned. “Curse this village,” She muttered. That was the problem with living so far out of the city. And a week was a long time; the bird’s family could fly out of the area by then.

She hemmed, then hawed, then asked, “Then is there anything your computer can tell me about splinting a wing?”

Young Freddy nodded, then raised an eyebrow. “Do you not have a computer at home?”

Epiphany shook her head. “My daughter Hanna took mine a few years ago. I never bothered to replace it.”

The librarian smiled sympathetically as he typed. “Makes sense… ah yes, here’s an article. It says you can use medical items at home like a dressing or gauze, but in a pinch an ice lolly stick and tape will do the trick. Do you want me to print it for you? There’s a diagram for how to splint a wing.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful, love. Thank you,” she said, taking a relieved breath. “And that is very good news, because I now have a hankering for a lolly.”

The librarian smiled, standing up as the pages printed from a shelf on their desk. Epiphany watched as he read something from the paper, then tapped the end of the pages on the wood, making sure they were aligned. 

“The only thing is though,” Young Edward said, “It looks like if the bird’s wing is broken, it won’t be able to fly anymore.” Apologetic, he shrugged, then handed her the papers.

Epiphany’s mouth dried out, her eyes tracking down the lines and detailed diagrams, not spotting the warning.

“But who knows, maybe the vet can fix it?”

Epiphany gulped as Young Philip brushed a hand through his hair. “There’s not a vet in town anymore. Remember, he moved to Santorini last year? After that incident with the goat?” 

The poor lad blinked at her. “Oh, erm- alright then. I would reach out to a wildlife specialist, maybe?”

She swiveled around, holding the papers. “Best be on my way then.” She glanced back over her shoulder as she walked into the stacks. “Send your parents my regards.”

Young Michael smiled as the sparrow rustled in the nest on her head. She turned her neck back, glancing down at the papers in her hand.

“One more stop, and you’ll be right as rain,” She said to the bird. 

· ✶ · ─ ·⏾· ─ · ✶ ·

The grocery only had lemon-lime lollies, which was a travesty, but it would have to do. After snagging some sellotape from another aisle, Epiphany paid for the items and left the shop. She took the scenic route home, not caring if the ice lollies melted, though if the box dripped on her floor and the sticky substance attracted ants, she would not be a happy bunny.

Epiphany hurried home around the path, not stopping to admire the creek and the pond like she normally would. Instead, she let the wind push her forward, speeding her steps to the cottage, which was difficult while trying not to move your head or neck.

Finally striding up to her house, Epiphany bustled inside, not bothering to lock the door behind her. She took a few deep breaths as she entered the kitchen, pulled the box of ice lollies out the bag, then opened the box.

Turning on the sink, she let the water warm, then carefully opened each ice lolly, flinging the wrappers onto the counter. Epiphany took a tentative lick of one lolly, made a face as the sour flavor and cold texture caused a tooth ache, and ran the rest of the treat under the water.

In a few minutes, she had several clean lolly sticks drying on the table. She sat down on a chair, scooting in closer. Epiphany straightened her back as the sparrow cheeped from its nest. “Yes, alright, I can hear you,” She murmured. And then she got to work tearing off pieces of the sellotape and attaching them to the edge of the table.

Finally, it was all laid out before her. A dish towel, the tape, the lolly sticks, and the papers from Young George. Moving her hands very slowly, Epiphany reached up and scooped the fledgling sparrow out of the nest. She placed it on the dish towel, careful of the crooked wing, smiling as she admired the tan and brown plumage, the round puffy body, the bright yellow beak, the inquisitive brown eyes.

Inching the towel around the bird, Epiphany watched it watch her. It tilted its head as she grasped its fragile body in her hand, so small within her grip. It chirped, as if asking her to hurry up. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “You’re going to be just peachy.”

The bird’s wing still hung higher than the other one, sticking out at an angle. The diagram said to roll the bird on its back and then splint the wing. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the bird and the diagram, the bird and the diagram. Then she sat back, setting down the bird and closing her eyes. She pressed her palms into them, her pulse pounding in her chest.

“What if I splint your wing and you can’t fly ever again?”

Epiphany squeaked open an eye. The bird seemed content in the towel, not in pain. Maybe it was best to wait- she now had the supplies if necessary, but perhaps Young James was right. Best to leave this to the professionals. 

She’d owned a food stand back in the day, growing all the produce she sold herself in her back garden. If someone had tried to do her job, she would have had a conniption. Did many times, in fact, when Hanna bungled up a sale, or stored citrus incorrectly and it molded. Perhaps, she was being too hasty.

Fear rooting in her heart, she looked at the little creature. It let out a trill, as if to say, take your time, it will be alright. Epiphany nodded, hands shaking as she scooped up the bird and put it back in its nest on her head. “You need to rest. I’ll feed you dinner, then tomorrow, we’ll try flying again.”

Epiphany enjoyed cooking, but there were only so many meals you could make for yourself when living alone before you got bored. Having a sparrow to cook for was much better. As the sunlight faded in the kitchen window, Epiphany turned on the lights and played an album of acoustic flamenco music. She let the plucked guitar strings comfort her anxiety and soon, her hands stopped trembling, and she smiled as she made two plates.

For the bird: blackberries and millet, sunflower seeds and buckwheat, corn and oats. For her: apples and peanut butter, carrots and hummus, mozzarella and tomato. Epiphany didn’t eat much, so she tended to look at food as nourishment instead of enjoyment. But tonight, something about the plate reminded her of the snacks she used to make for Hanna.

Moving outside to the garden, Epiphany settled in the old wicker chair on the grass, next to the half-rusted latticed side table. She put both plates and a glass of water on the white metal surface, then carefully moved the bird from her head to the plate.

The sparrow chirped in what she hoped was thanks as it pecked at its dinner. Epiphany stared up at the rising moon as the guitar strings soothed her aching joints.

“You know, we all used to eat dinner out here, as a family. We’d have plates on our laps, watching the stars flicker into place, and Hanna would always do cartwheels when she was done- even when she got older. What a silly thing.”

Epiphany leaned back in her chair, letting her neck fall a bit. The bird rustled on the plate. Unexpectedly, she felt a knot forming in her throat. She swallowed, pushing past the burn in her eyes. “Listen, sparrow, you have to make it back to them- back to your family. You have to fly away from here. I’m not- not the best mother. I don’t want to hurt you, by trying to help you. God knows I’ve done enough of that. Breaking things.”

Epiphany picked up her water and took another sip, clearing her throat. Then she looked up at the moon. God, she wished she was drunk. “But your flock is what lifts you up- without them, you’re stuck. And I don’t want you to be stuck here, too.”

The bird did not respond, as birds are naught to do. Epiphany nodded in thought as she closed her eyes. She suddenly felt so very tired. “We’ll give it a few days, then I’ll call the specialist to take you to a wildlife center.”

The sparrow rustled its wings and whistled a somber note into the wind. 

· ✶ · ─ ·⏾· ─ · ✶ ·

Epiphany slid into consciousness on Hanna’s birthday with the sound of the rain. It was coming down in buckets, drumming into the roof and causing a leak to drip water onto her forehead. She stood up, stretching, then fetched the bucket from the kitchen. She placed it just by her pillow, sighing as it started to fill.

At least today, she could see her daughter. The phone hadn’t rung yet, but she knew well-wishers would be calling soon enough. This kind of thing didn’t go unnoticed in the village.

Getting dressed and pulling on a warm coat, Epiphany walked into the kitchen, grabbed an apple and her umbrella and left. Didn’t want to keep Hanna waiting.

Outside, she huddled under the umbrella, protecting the nest on her head. She walked along the dirt road toward the village. Every time the rain splashed her face, she shuddered from the cold. She decided it was best to leave the apple for later.

Turning down a side path and crossing a grassy lawn, Epiphany spotted Rodger, walking up the grass toward her in a coat and cap. He waved, and she sighed, then splashed toward him.

“Oh, hello there stranger!”

Epiphany moved toward him, sharing the umbrella. Rivulets of water ran down his cap onto his weathered face. “Want me to walk with you?”

Epiphany shook her head. “In a moment. Mind if I have her alone first?”

Rodger smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I never mind, love.” He winked and nodded his head to the left. “I’ll meet you there.”

Then he strode off into the grey and rain- and Epiphany was alone.

She trudged through the wet grass, finally turning into the park. Ahh, there she was. Her daughter, her love.

Epiphany walked up to the tombstone, letting her eyes get as wet as the sky. The simple lettering read: Hanna Spurling. “Hope” is the thing with feathers. 1981-2022.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered. “I miss you so very much.” Epiphany closed her eyes, trying to find some feeling of a greater presence or higher power. But she only felt cold from the rain, and sad from the day.

She wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, then shifted the umbrella to her other hand. Epiphany reached up, slowly moving her hand through the nest on the top of her head for the sparrow. But she didn’t feel anything- where was the little creature?

Epiphany ran her hand across the brambles and feathers, the cotton or hair and all the little strings the birds had built a nest with. Then she looked around, eyes widening as the rain lightened. “Blast it all, I can’t see a thing,” she muttered, closing the umbrella.

 The drizzle misted over her face as she walked forward, her eyes searching through the wet grass. She bent down, running her hands through it. “No, no, no-” she cursed, growing more frantic.

Then Rodger came down over the hill, holding a bouquet of white and yellow and pink and green flowers. He tilted his head as he frowned at her. “What are you on to? Lose something?” He called.

Epiphany’s throat tightened to the point of pain. She looked up at him, hands trembling. Rodger walked to the grave, set the flowers on it, then stepped closer. She pressed her lips together, shaking her head.

And then she heard it, the most beautiful birdsong, echoing through the mist. Epiphany looked up, eyes scanning the gray clouds, and then she spotted them. A flock of sparrows, flying through the sky. They spiraled in a lazy arc above the graveyard and then vanished over the hills.

Epiphany looked at Rodger and breathed out a relieved laugh. The man smiled, placing his hand on her shoulder. She sniffled, then the sun broke through the clouds, warming her skin.

Rodger wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned into the touch.

Makena Metz is a Writer & Songwriter for the Page, Screen, and Stage. She has an MFA in Creative Writing and MA in English from Chapman University. Her prose and poetry have been published with The Literary Hatchet, The Blunt Space, The Mid-Atlantic Review, Boudin, The Fantastic Other, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Arkana, Strange Horizons, and many more. Find her work @makenametz on social media and check out makenametz.com