A Chicken Crossing the Road

I was clipping along at a jaunty pace through the sand hills region of Eastern North Carolina, heading towards the next performance. It was a beautiful day. The sky was that Tarheel blue. I tell you true, a prettier sky cannot be found. Highway 74 stretched out ahead with tobacco plants off the port side and soybeans off the starboard. Driving is inherent to the life of a puppeteer like me and I tend to enjoy it.

Suddenly I looked out the passenger side window to see a chicken flying straight towards the truck. The chicken was side-view mirror high and accelerating.

I never knew that chickens could fly. Not like this. I also never knew that a chicken’s face could display such angst. Eyes penetrating, beak ajar, chicken feet splayed wide open; it is an image that I cannot erase after all of these years. I felt I had looked into the eyes of terror itself, albeit for a fleeting moment.

Then the chicken was gone. She went up and over the truck and did not re-appear. Nothing on my side of the truck, nothing underneath, just nothing. The bird had vanished, like a chicken banshee racing away from some unknown hell close on her heels.

I rolled on in silent awe, wondering what I had just seen and wondering why. I rolled on past the tobacco, past the soybeans. I rolled on towards the next performance.