The Secrets of Birds

And still, the wind blows softly against my skin, tempting me to run and play with the colored birds of the dark night world. "Play with us," the birds cry in their often misinterpreted language. High coos and flittering decibels of deeper chords, they sing with the fluidity of the ocean. How was my ear tuned to their sound? The earlier encounters with their larger friends prepared me slightly for their visit.
One day I sat, watching the green grass grow, feeling an ant discovering the soft valleys of my body. It was then, when I rested my attention on the almost silent world that moves and shifts beneath my inattentive gaze, it was then, under the loyal sun, who glows and beams so often in this land dotted with hills and wooded valleys, here, while the clouds moved lazily by my dot of a body, while the earth continued to tilt and turn, while the frenzied activity and buzz of human life whirled by at a sorry pace, here, to me, the birds came.
Their brethren told them of my wishes, of my desires. How the first ones could read my thoughts, I will never know. But they knew. And they spoke to me as only small winged and feathered creatures can. They dropped their long feathers for me to gather. They gave me material for costumes and sacred dances. "Here," they said, "have us, take us and plant us in the ground."
One stands now, by the Valarus, watching it grow, watching it feed on the food of water and minerals. I planted the feathers, I hung them from mirrors and strung them around my neck. They decorated my ears and tickled my lover’s nose. Their gifts showered like golden rain, and I opened to accept their offerings. "To me?" they discovered me, they came from shadow worlds with trees made of puppets and people made of snow. I envied they journey, their ability to move and shift, voyaging from one landscape to another without losing sight of their goal.
"Bring me back," I wanted to shout, but I could only smile, moving slowly and smiling shyly as they dropped their coverings and became naked. Beneath their quills, I saw emblems and symbols. Etched in glittering raised lines made of blood and gold, their markings were clear, containing a mystery beyond my imagination. I stared, in utter confusion, in awe, in wonderment. These markings, lacking verbal clarity, yet shining with the magnificence of other worlds; of teachings that cannot be explained.
My mind screamed for explanation, but my heart kept me still, my mouth remained shut while my words were shoved into my deepest caves. I was not allowed to ask. They were not allowed to tell. Only the mystery made itself clear, and I drank its beauty. My mouth open, my chin wet, I lapped at the beauty of the other, I cried for the clearness of the strange.
"Yes," they said, with wordless cries and soundless laughs, "let yourself feel, there is no answer…only eternal questions."