The Peacock

An unexpected visitor alights on the writer’s roof

It just stood there, like it was supposed to be there. It might be in Asia, but not at our little white house in Henrico County, Virginia. There was a peacock on our roof. That’s right, a peacock. My sister, mom, and I were standing on the deck leading into my parents’ bedroom, morning air slapping our faces. We were watching a peacock strut on our roof, its face facing the yard.

“How did it even get up there?” I asked no one in particular. How did it even get up there, seriously?

But the way it was strutting could give you a thought that it owned the house, the street, even the county! Maybe even the country! And it was dressed like it too. Even though it wasn’t showing off its assortment of beautiful rainbow tail feathers, it had a sea-blue body and a large patch of green on its neck, right under a beautiful light-blue eye.

It soon started calling to something in the yard. I looked into the yard to find another peacock disappearing into the trees! The other peacock looked exactly like the peacock on our roof.

The peacock soon flew off our roof, and the spectacle was over.

I went back into my room to get ready for school. If there is one thing I learned about peacocks from that dazzling event, it’s that they have a place everywhere, even in America, the place where you least expect a peacock to be.