THE GOLDEN EAGLE

I am walking down a familiar street near my grandmother's house.  From a distance, I notice an outline of an animal's body.  At first, I imagined it was a delicate deer. I soon realize, however, that it is actually a salt and brown-peppered feathered bird of gigantic proportions.  It seems injured or wounded in some way. 

I snap a picture of the bird with my cell phone as it slowly carries its weight toward the top of an overpass.  Just as I finish snapping the picture the bird topples over the side of the overpass and disappears.  Did it fall into the river below? I wonder, with a sense of concern for its survival. 

Suddenly, just as quickly as it had disappeared over the side of the overpass it reappears, flying over the Hudson River headed in my direction, across a silent indigo sky with a wing spread that seemed to stretch for miles.  

I am now both terrified and awestruck as I understand its intentions.  It is definitely coming for me and my cell-phone.   With one swipe of its claw, the bird sweeps me off the ground and on its back.  I am now one with this magnificent bird, flying across the sky and over the river.  As I hold on for dear life, I can feel its plush ad soft feathers against my hands and face.  I can see its skin is thick with fat, and its claws are massive.

After a timeless flight, the bird lands and I am on the ground once more; but the bird is not quite finished with me.  It grabs my camera -- with an intense sense of authority -- and destroys it. Next, without warning, it grabs my right hand and begins to nibble on the palm of my hand.   I can feel its beak gnawing deeply into the palm of my right hand as I watch in sheer terror.  When the bird finally finishes nibbling, I gain the courage to peek at what is left of my right hand.  To my surprise, instead of mangled palm, I find the bird has written the word GOOD in gold right in the middle of my palm.