The Bird and The Boy

She was beautiful. An elegant shadow among the clouds, whiter than the heavenly giants themselves. She flew stark against the clear sky, making the blue of it more lovely just for her presence. The chilled wind of autumn finding a home beneath her wings, sending the delicate creature upward.

He watched her. Just a boy, he entered into the valley alone. Deadened green grass brushing his bare legs, laces dragging behind dusty sneakers. He smiled. The little bird in the sky intrigued him. For a long while, he just stood there, staring up at her, blue eyes narrowing in the sun.

All the bird noticed was a break in the solid green of the earth. The broken pattern amused her, yet she stayed aloft, whistling in her sphere.

Night came to the sky and the valley, the boy leaving with the sun. All was in unison again. She neared the ground for safety, starlight reflecting in her eyes.

He came again the next day. She was back in her orbit, chasing vapors and relishing in the warmth of the sun. The boy came day after day, simply watching the small bird.

Until one day, he called to her, holding out his hand.

She paused. Interactions with things upon the ground had left her cold and nervous, the warm grace of the sky was now home. What was this that spoke from down below? She sang to him from her flight.

"Hello little boy..." she hummed "what do you want of me?"

Hearing only whistles, he merely smiled, extending his hand further, simply wanting to touch her.

Again night came, and again day, the same circumstance over and over. The boy entered alone, bird and child staring innocently at one another, engulfed in the curiosity and excitement that only age and experience can put asunder.

He held out his hand, this time, whistling back to her in her own tongue, mimicking her call.

At first insulted, she dropped down from her soaring to inquire about the matter, flitting gently around his ears and soft brown hair. The freckles on his face painted over by her shadow. He laughed. She was scared, unable to understand this new thing in her valley. Downy plumage ruffled as she again took wing, breaking away from him.

"oh..." He said, watching her from the ground, and patiently sat down.

She perched upon a bough within the middle of an evergreen. White, blue, and green all diffused and clear in the nipping weather. Again, the two just watched each other, learning the other from a distance, until again the evening came and the boy reluctantly returned home.

Morning sank and dripped away into the darkness, until all the shadows cleared and light pooled in from all around. He was back again, a little taller and just as eager. He whistled to her, hand held out yet this time, not empty. Scattered crumbs lay in his palm. She drew in to this new being, and again he stood patient and quiet. She felt his warmth in the chilled day. Hearing his pulse, knowing his heart. She stayed in flight, yet nimbly peeked into his hand. He was safe.

At first she sat on his shoulder, twittering songs unknown to him yet skittish still. Then at length she perched closer to his neck, taking joy in finding herself in his eyes, her delicate white frame hidden behind his lashes. And finally, she allowed herself to rest in the cradle of his hand.

They were content in the valley. He would come, and she would descend. He would talk and be silent while she sang of her flights and fancies. The company and companionship lovingly shared, warmth for warmth, presence for presence, ear for ear. At times, the boy would even stay out within the night, her pale body alive and trembling in his hands.

Slowly, change entered the valley. It was becoming a forest, more complicated than just the sky or simple grass. Yet, the shifting elements were subtle. The bird grew cautious of snags and wayward branches that might grab or tear her delicate feathers, while the boy navigated wild paths, roots and weeds growing about his well known strolls. When the bird was gone or slow to come, he would collect stones. Their smooth coldness, a welcome contrast from the warm softness of the bird to his hand. They were kept within his pocket, out of boredom and comfort.

Years passed.

She now flew lower in the sky, still whiter than the clouds, chanting hymns to the sun. The man came to the grove. In contemplation, his hand manipulated a single stone within his pants pocket, legs covered to avoid scratches, laces tied. She sang to him, and he looked up, her outline cast against the sun. He smiled, and glanced to the side, his vision seared briefly. Worried, she piped again, louder and lowered closer to him.

A single weed had recently grown across the way, thorny and mangled.

He tripped. Foot entangled, he fell fast to the ground, hand flinging out his pocket to soften the fall, sending a single stone into the heavens.

She fell. The cold rock piercing her breast, the impact shattering her, wing crumbled to her body.

The two lay on the ground.

His palms bleeding, knees dusting, and ankle imprinted by thorns, at first only shock touched him. The pain to his physical body coming afterward.

She cried out from where she fell. Red mingled with brown, coloring her wings tawny.

He saw her. Barely able to crawl, he crept close. Frightened, she became silent. They stared at each other. Each marred in blood and strangeness. Unable to rest in his hand again, each too wounded to care for the other.

The man left the once was valley. Limping, tattered, thorns still in his ankle. She lingered in his shadow, gambling in his foot prints until she could no longer keep up. Silent, she hopped to the trunk of the evergreen, colors merging with the dust, brown and green.

She sat broken and tainted upon the ground. Waiting for her wing to mend, the stone to be removed, and to return to the warmth and safety of the heavens once again.