A Tuesday Morning Sunrise
Tuesday morning (14 August 2012), while out running by Lake Hefner in Oklahoma City, this scene caught up my attention and started my imagination racing: The first place my thoughts flew to was a scene in Flannery O’Connor’s “The Displaced Person.” You would have to have read the whole story to catch the multifaceted point she was making through the peacocks, but the scene is as follows: “The priest let his eyes wander toward the birds. They had reached the middle of the lawn. The cock stopped suddenly and curving his neck backwards, he raised his tail and spread it with a shimmering timbrous noise. Tiers of small pregnant suns floated in a green-gold haze over his head. The priest stood transfixed, his jaw slack. Mrs. McIntyre wondered where she had ever seen such an idiotic old man. “Christ will come like that!” he said in a loud gay voice and wiped his hand over his mouth and stood, gaping. Mrs. McIntyre’s face assumed a set purita...