the shadow of a landing airliner swoops over your car as you drive the highway adjacent to the airport and you flinch, duck your head, a simple reflex unleashed by buried knowledge embedded in cells safely preserved from the hesitation of reason, and for that instant you have the mind of a trout shooting for cover, fleeing a heron’s passing shadow, between water and shadow the certain knowledge of certain danger declared in the sweep of wings and the promise of the bird’s stern eye __________ "Reflex" appeared in the Fall 2006 issue of Appalachian Journal. Home / Escapee / Stories / Poems / Non-fiction / Contact / Links |