Four Birds

Based on a dream I had last night.

On a brisk summer morning, I found myself walking through a woods larger than I had ever before seen.  With me, as always, was my constant companion, my hawk perched proudly on my gauntlet.  Silent, stoic, blind from the hood I had placed on her head.

When I removed the delicate leather, I was surprised to find that we shared no more bond - our connection was severed and we looked upon each other as strangers.  She screeched at me and flew deep into the woods.

It was at that moment that I realized I was lost - my sense of direction had left me and the trail behind me, once so clear, was grown over.  I began to panic and run in any and all directions.  Darkness gripped the woods.  Thorns grabbed at me, roots lifted themselves to catch my feet, my flesh began to sting from the scrapes and the sweat.

Just as I felt myself lose all hope of rescue, I happened upon a raven sitting on a branch in front of me.  She looked at me and told me not to lose hope, that there is a way out.  With a flap of her wings, she was off, flying slowly enough that I was able to follow.

Just as the sun was beginning to peek through the overhang, the raven set off too fast and I lost sight of her.  After a time of further hopeless wandering, getting more and more lost, the raven reappeared and offered her help again.  I began to follow again, but just as trees started clearing, we lost each other once more, a pattern of cruel destiny.

How am I to find my way out of these woods?  How do I find my home?  I was beginning to lose sight of what my home even looked like.

A chirp was heard from far away.  A sparrow, from the sound of it.  She was too far to be seen, but wanted to help.  Too far to show me any clarity in my path.  The sparrow attempted to guide me through by voice, but it only served to confuse me further.

My muscles ache, my stomach is sour, my skin is broken.

I am told by all the creatures of the forest that I need to follow the fourth bird.  A mythical Phoenix lay at my feet, young, cold, and flightless.  I picked it up and held it against my breast.  This bird is my only salvation, but I can't see how.  The only things I see in its eyes are fog and darkness.  I'm told it is there, beyond the dim, its fire has yet to be known.

I sit and I cry.  My only rescue is through a strength that I'm sure is there, but has yet to ignite.  Days and weeks pass and my body begins to shrivel.  I long to see the raven, I long to see the sparrow, I long for the old days with my hawk.  I care less and less for the Phoenix.

My confusion is taking hold.  My tears are flowing freely.  Home is further lost.

Reviews

[Kristopher Ross Koehler]

Sequel, please? :-) Very beautifully written. I sense the agony in the words you write and hope you find the right path soon. Let that Phoenix sit awhile longer, and she'll light your path before long.