by Christina Isler
“Honey, the package arrived!” I called to my husband. There was no pause in the typing coming from his study. Irritated, I turned my attention to the package before me.
Turning back the four rectangles of cardboard, I peered inside. Lifting it out, the light played along the polished copper, each detail dazzling me. The winged horse,
Pegasus, appeared to be in flight, mighty wings lifted, powerful legs galloping.
I’d never had a weathervane before. As a girl, I’d loved horses and unicorns, but I still wasn’t sure why this weathervane had jumped out at me weeks earlier while
looking through a catalogue. Surrendering to the impulse, I had ordered the weathervane.
Looking at it now, a sadness filled me. I shook my head at my foolishness, wondering what on earth I was going to do with it. I couldn’t get it on the roof myself, and obviously my husband wouldn’t be moved to do it for me.
Why did one need a weathervane, anyway? Did it really matter what way the wind blew? And if the wind’s direction changed, then what? There was some saying, something about the winds of change. What did that mean?
Change. Change was a good thing, they said. It had been a long time since there had been any change in my life. A bored housewife, a lonely house, an absent husband.
Now a weathervane, with no wind to turn it.
Looking down at the Pegasus, I decided to make my own wind, my own change. I set it down gently in the box and stood up resolutely. I strode to my husband’s study and knocked smartly on the door jam before entering the room.
“Honey, we need to talk.”