Silver Spoons

The old woman sitting on the park bench was gathering an inordinate number of birds around her. Farrah was surprised to see that there didn't seem to be any sparrows or pigeons or the usual birds you'd see swarming bird feeders at this park. These birds were big and black and seemed to be clutching silver trinkets in their beaks. Moreover, she realized the old woman didn't appear to be tossing them any birdseed. Instead, she pulled something hard and metal and glinting in the light out of a pocket of her oversized coat and held it out. A magpie snapped it right up.

The old lady looked up and noticed Farrah staring, then waved enthusiastically at her. Almost unconsciously, Farrah held up her hand to wave back. "Why don't you come sit with me, dearie?” she called over. “It’s a lovely park. I could use a bit of company.” She patted the seat next to her. Farrah hesitated for a moment, glancing down the path. She really needed to get to her mother’s house, otherwise she would be agitated and ask all sorts of questions about why Farrah was late and what she had been doing lollygagging or whatever. Then Farrah realized that she was already late at this point, and the thought of having to face her mother in only a few minutes turned her around and sent her walking towards the bench. She doubted a few extra minutes would get her in any additional trouble. As she got closer, she realized the trinkets were all fancy silver spoons, like the kind her grandmother had collected on vacation in Europe. The old woman once again gestured for Farrah to sit down. She carefully picked her way through the flock of birds and sat down on the bench.

“How are you, dearie? You look a bit anxious.”

“It’s my mother.”

“Oh dear. Is she sick?”

“Just old.”

“Ah. I understand that quite well.”

The woman pulled another spoon out of her sleeve. It had a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it, and it looked antique. She passed it down to a black bird that Farrah at first thought was a raven but was probably just a crow. She knew that ravens were always bigger than you expected them to be. It greedily grabbed the gift and took off, its prize clutched in its beak.

“Why are you feeding the birds spoons?”

“Well, I’m not feeding them, sweetie. They like to collect shiny things.”

“Aren’t they expensive? Seems like a waste.”

“I have more than enough spoons, and I like when others add to their collections. It makes me happy. It’s not a waste if the birds enjoy them.” She pulled a mini spoon about the size of an index finger out of a tiny pocket and handed it to another bird Farrah couldn’t identify. She could have sworn that the pocket was empty a second ago. Silver spoons must be heavy, right? There hadn’t been any weight in that pocket. “Do you collect anything, sweetheart?”

“No, not really. When I was a kid I had a rock collection, but I threw it out.”

“Oh, that’s such a shame. I’m sure the rocks were very pretty.”

“Not really. A few were.”

“Even so.”

“Are you here often?”

“Oh, I travel. Lots of parks, lots of birds. And people, of course. I give spoons out wherever I go.”

“And you never run out?”

“Of course not. I can’t run out.”

Farrah was starting to put the pieces together. “So, you’re like the goddess of collecting things?”

“I’m the goddess of collecting spoons.”

“That specific?”

“I met the god of collecting rocks once. Little boy. He’d been a little boy for a while, he said. Children love collecting rocks. You might have liked him.”

“Did you give him a spoon?”

She laughed. “Didn’t want one!” As she spoke, she continued pulling spoons out of various pockets and folds in her coat. The birds were beginning to thin out a bit. Farrah guessed there couldn’t be too many corvids around, especially in the winter. She wondered how far some of these ones had come, to meet the goddess of collecting shiny trinkets.

“So how long have you been a goddess?” It seemed like a silly thing to say, like asking about a date’s career, but Farrah wasn’t sure what else to talk about.

“Oh, not too long. Silver spoons are new, you know. Or at least compared to a lot of other things. Maybe a hundred years?”

“And what’s it like?”

“Not too different from when I was alive. More time to travel, no need for earthly requirements. I still go out to eat in Paris sometimes. There’s a souvenir shop that has a lovely shrine to me there. Painting and offerings and everything. It’s something of an attraction to silver spoon collectors I hear. I stop by every few years.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. I hear it can be a dreadful chore to be a god of something important. So many festivals and temples to make appearances at. Neverending responsibilities. Makes some of them go strange I think. I suppose humans can be like that too, if they get too much attention.”

"Or too many expectations,” Farrah added.

“Yes.”

“I should really be going. It was nice meeting you.”

“Of course, dearie. Here, start a new collection.” She pulled a spoon out of one of the pockets by her hips. It was studded with what looked at first like precious stones but upon closer inspection were just polished rocks, like you might find in a tacky gift shop. At the top was embedded a single unpolished stone. “It would work with either rocks or spoons,” she added helpfully.

Farrah put it in the inside pocket of her coat. “Thank you. I’ll do that,” she said, and she really felt like she meant it.