Sunday, August 14, 2011

Watch Me Soar

When I was just a baby bird, I fell out of the nest.  It was a long and painful fall that should, should, should have killed me.  I wished, wished, wished that it would have; instead, my fall only left me crippled and alone.  I chirped, chirped, chirped "come save me!" "come see me!" "come take me home!" where I would be safe.  No one heard me.

I jumped, jumped, jumped on my one good leg from tree to tree to find someone who would take me in; give me a home; help me feel safe.  I stared, stared, stared up at the beautiful trees.  There were many, many, many that I saw that looked to be perfect for a baby bird like me.  I sang, sang, sang my sad song to the trees with my neck stretched upwards towards their branches.  The trees whispered among themselves in debate.  It was a risk, risk, risk to take me in.  But the song I sang; oh, it was mesmerizing.  They could not, not, not say no.  I made my home in their midst and flitted from one tree to another to make sure, sure, sure I had found the best one.  I rested, rested, rested at long last.

One night a great windstorm came and I was not, not, not strong enough to stay.  I fell, fell, fell again; this fall more painful, even, than the first.  I could not fly.  I could not flit.  I could not sing.  I was dead, dead dead inside and gave up all hope.  I spent many, many, many days and nights alone without a single chirp.  I waited, waited, waited for the animals to come and carry me away.  I willed, willed, willed them to come.  They did not.

A little boy came one day and found, found, found me.  He took me home to his house and nursed me back to health. He loved, loved, loved me despite the fact that I could not fly and could not walk.  He sang, sang, sang to me in hopes that I would sing back to him.  He did not know that I had decided long ago to never, never, never sing again.  I watched, watched, watched this boy skeptically and waited for him to give up on me.  He never, never, never did.  He cried, cried, cried at night for me and prayed with all his might that I would sing and fly again.  I watched on in sorrow.  For I wanted, wanted, wanted to be what this boy thought I was.

In the afternoons, he would cart me around in a hand-made bird bed made just for me to show, show, show me a world that felt strange.  He took, took, took me one day to a doctor who knew everything about me.  The doctor said not a word.  But his eyes; they held something I wanted for myself.  We spoke, spoke, spoke to each other without words for a very long time.  I felt, felt, felt something I had forgotten.  I timidly let out a small chirp, full of fear.  He smiled, smiled, smiled at me and encouraged me to sing.  I was silent, silent, silent for a long time.  He waited patiently.  I began to sing my sad song very softly for him and he stopped, stopped, stopped me with a look.  I quieted and was confused, confused, confused.  It was the only song I knew.  I wanted, wanted, wanted to please him but did not know how.  He waited.  I waited.  Slowly I began again, again, again my familiar song.  He stopped me once more with his eyes.  They were sad, sad, sad eyes full of love and compassion.

I realized, realized, realized in an instant what he wanted from me.  I inhaled and took, took, took the deepest breath I had ever mustered.  I blindly, blindly, blindly began a new song; beautiful and true married strange and unfamiliar in the minutes that followed as I sang my little heart out; a new song.  He nodded, nodded, nodded with pride and approval.  I beamed, beamed, beamed at him and basked in his love.  He reached, reached, reached down and scooped me up.  He took me to his window and set me down, down, down gingerly.  I cringed, cringed, cringed away from the sunlight.  I tried to tell him with my eyes that I could not fly; that my wings, wings, wings had been permanently damaged beyond repair.  Once, once, once more he waited.  Once more his eyes, eyes, eyes implored me to try.  I hopped, hopped, hopped to the edge and looked out at the world I had convinced myself only brought hurt.  I sang, sang, sang my sad song once more and looked to him for permission to back away.  He did not give me what I wanted.

I sat, sat, sat on this window ledge for days that turned into weeks that turned into months that turned into years.  The doctor came to be with me every, every, every day and watched me look out his window hopefully; fearfully.  I could not, not, not let him down.  I needed, needed, needed to show him that he was wrong about me; that I was not capable of this feat.  Without, without, without thinking one afternoon I reached out my broken wing towards the world and put all my weight into my final fall.  I was ready, ready, ready to die.    I fell, fell, fell.  Suddenly, a breeze caught my good wing and flung me upwards.  I grappled, grappled, grappled with my bad wing, willing it to catch up to the other with all the strength my frail body was capable of.  I was scared, scared, scared and waited to hit the ground.

A miracle, miracle, miracle happened as I felt my wing respond to my efforts.  I teetered, teetered, teetered from left to right as I tried to gain momentum and stay aflight.  And just like that - I was soaring, soaring, soaring in the air.  A joy, joy, joy filled my small heart as I turned to look at the doctors' window; for there he was.  Smiling, smiling, smiling and jumping up and down screaming out with all his might, "I knew you could!  I knew you would!  Oh, how I have been waiting for this day!"  I sang my new song and soared around him while he clapped, clapped, clapped.  I felt free for the first, first, first time in my life and absolutely beautiful.  Watch me soar, soar, soar dear friend.  Watch me soar.

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