It had been several days since Archie and I met outside the clinic where we’d undergone our MRIs. Mine … intentional. His … accidental. Since then, many things had changed. Most obvious, I noticed after I was once again sitting on the wall opposite the clinic’s front door, was a new sign:

I snorted skeptically, and muttered to myself, “No wonder about that!”

Although nothing about the place actually looked abandoned (the windows were impeccably clean, the sidewalk was swept, and the chrome doorknob sparkled), something was definitely off. After Archie, my Giant Chickadee buddy, alighted beside me on the wall, I asked, “What’s different?”

“Other than that it’s closed?”

“Yes. Other than that.”

He glanced around himself, his head and body doing a complete 360° rotation.

“Well,” he concluded thoughtfully, “Since we were here last, the grass is six-inches taller, and even though the roses on those bushes should be dead, their blooms are bigger than any I’ve ever seen.”

My eyes widened as I contemplated each anomaly. “You’re right,” I said. Then I glared at him confrontationally.

“How can you be right?”

Archie shrugged, “It goes with being a freak of nature.”

“You are NOT a freak of nat…” I cut myself off when I noticed a tentative movement beneath the shrubbery in front of the now-closed clinic. I huffed out, “Did you see that?”

Archie flew onto my knee. He craned his entire head to get a better view, and hissed, “Shush. Don’t say anything … okay. I see it now. Wow. She’s almost as big as me.”

“What? Where?”

“Under the rose bush to the left of the front door.”

For a few seconds, I said – and saw – nothing. Another flutter of movement from the same location, and, “Yes. Yes. It’s beautiful, Archie. What is it?”

Archie hopped to my other knee and peered intently.

“A female goldfinch.” He tilted his head pensively in that funny way he has, where his entire body seems to turn into a listening post. Then he grew rigid, his feathers ruffled excitedly, and he said, “Look. A couple of inches to her right. Another one. Definitely a male. Can you see him?”

I squinted. And, oh. Yes. Bright yellow. Sun yellow. Daffodil yellow. About half Archie’s size, but dozens of sizes bigger than what he and his girlfriend would be if they hadn’t had an experience similar to what had transformed Archie. I said, my voice a whisper, “Go and talk to them.”

“Me? Why not you?”

“Because I’m human. I’m big and scary. You’re a fellow-bird. About the same size. It’s obvious to me that you both … I mean, all three of you … were traumatized by the same event, and…”

“Okay,” Archie said.

“Don’t fly,” I admonished. “Walk right up the middle of the sidewalk, so they don’t think you’re trying to sneak up on them.”

Archie’s feathers unruffled, if that’s a word, and he once again became sleek, round, and adorable. He hopped down to the sidewalk and slowly began to jump, fly, and bounce toward the other two birds. Then, he stopped short. Seeing, I thought, exactly what I saw. Two MORE birds suddenly popping out of the bushes … followed by a teeny, tiny elegant swan, small enough to fit into a teacup. Nor was that all, because last to emerge from the bushes was a very large – by normal standards – dragonfly, with luminous diaphanous wings. But, unlike any dragonfly I had ever seen before; it was as big as a child’s balsa wood airplane.

Oh, my!

By some beneficent fluke of nature, the birds and the dragonfly were fearless and affable, and instead of seeing Archie as a mutant monstrosity, they welcomed him as a friend. Maybe even a cute friend! After a few minutes of seemingly pleasant conversation, they all turned toward me, and, began to hop, jump, fly, or waddle in my direction.

Archie made the introductions. “This,” he started with the goldfinch, “is Stella.” Stella was about the size of a cantaloup, with a bright orange beak and downy dull yellow feathers … except for her wings, which were solid black, fringed with white.

“And this,” Archie indicated her mate, “Is Rochester.” Rochester was similar to Stella, except for what looked like a black visor above his beak that covered half of his head. And, of course, he also differed in being a blindingly beautiful bright yellow.

Nigel and Gwendolyn, whom Archie then introduced, were tufted titmouses. They were about the same size as Rochester and Stella, but indistinguishable from each other. And with their little peaked crowns, grey-blue feathers, white tummies, and pretty faces, they were totally enchanting.

Archie next introduced the tiny swan, whose name was Florence. I lowered my hand to the sidewalk and she waddled into my palm. Since I met her, I have given a lot of thought to swans. Gangly, long necks. Small, beady eyes. Tubular orange beaks. Large black nostrils. And froggy black feet. Other than their exquisite white feathers, none of the component parts are particularly attractive. Yet, put them together, and the result borders on ethereal.

Last but not least, Archie introduced Byron, the dragonfly. At first, I was intimidated by the loops and dives he made as he flew around me. But soon, I was able to appreciate the dazzling reflection of the sun on his double set of transparent wings, and the long, sleek turquoise of his jewel-like body. I even got a kick out of the friendly expression on his little knob of a face.

Appraising our new friends with my foreknowledge of Archie, I concluded that they were probably transformed by a similar event. Although Archie was sucked into the MRI machine itself, the others, at the precise moment they were flying past the clinic, must have been exposed to emissions escaping from the MRI room. Possibly from a faulty valve or a leaky aperture … or in Florence’s case, when she was swimming in a nearby polluted pond.

However, just as I was about to impart these thoughts to my companions, a shadow suddenly obliterated the sun. It hovered ominously overhead and circled our small gathering twice. But before I could identify what it was, it shot back into the sky. A feather, about the size of a quill pen, detached itself from this flying apparition and felt to my feet, leaving me both shaken and afraid.

I slipped the feather into a pocket, made a nest out of handkerchiefs in my purse, and tucked Florence inside. I raised my head and snapped to the others, “We’re leaving here. Now.” Then I hurried to my car, and (without first seeking an explanation), two goldfinches, two titmouses, and one dragonfly trailed behind my vehicle as Archie the Giant Chickadee led them back to my house.

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2025. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit www.shellyreuben.com.