Omen

The birds dropped no feathers,
nor flew in strange paths,
nor sang in strange times,
nor died in strange ways.

The dogs refused no food,
nor bit those who feed them,
nor attacked those in their charge,
nor ran foaming in howling madness.

The fire threw no sparks.
The wind swept no dust.
The river flooded no field.
The earth told no secrets.

I sought the augury of the gods.
Watching carefully for the finest of signs.
I take their silence, that I have broken their caste,
And that I am free to make my life, my own.

(This prose written for Sunday Scribblings #292: Omen)