Cuckoo

The rain-soaked forest

Raindrops fell deeply from the dark mass of cedar fronds which overhung Lazar’s path home. Night was closing in and the shadowy forest was lit only in clearings by the heavy grey cloud overhead. It had been a full day of walking for the ageing woodsman, a journey of many miles to see his sister for one last time. He’d whistled and sung on his journey, stopped to drink at a tumbling stream and had sat on a rock to eat; but now the only sounds were the dull clump of his boots and the soft seething patter of droplets on earth.
    Tired as he was, his ankles complaining, he trudged and he traipsed over roots and stiff bracken, using his stick to temper the pain.
His thoughts naturally wandered over times long gone by, of days in bright sunshine, playing with Ania in meadows, in valleys, looking on her face in all its wild wonder. He remembered the old days, at the house of their parents, times were so different, the faces and moments all spent and deflated, yet remaining in shards of pure recollection.
    Pensive, he wandered, facing the gloom, making his way only by scanning the jagged edges of the strip of dim sky above him; the path now lost to the thick mat of night.
    He stopped. The dripping branches, alive with texture, filled his senses. The rain wasn’t heavy now, just a misting of dampness which collected in places, overflowing the saturated boughs.
She lay in the ground this night at last, the rain setting her in like a flower bulb awaiting the spring. Now she was part of the story, rather than the teller or listener.
Out of the forest, immersed in echo, a sound came gently floating. A sound of such sweetness, such melancholy; so obscure and familiar… a sound which penetrated; a sound that seemed to be made of wood itself.
A cuckoo, calling.

“Hu-hu.”

“Hu-hu.”

Lazar closed his eyes and let the sound in. He smiled. Was it coming from behind or in front? To the left or to the right? He didn’t know and it didn’t matter. He dared not move his feet. Tiny beads of rain gathered in colonies on his cheeks, waiting in the darkness.
Like me, he thought, like me you live in the forest. Like me you watch the night come, and like me you feel the dawn stretching its sleepy arms, reaching slowly around the day.

“Hu-hu.”

Came the reply. Lazar moved his foot forward, stepping onto mossy ground; then another gentle footfall, and one more still. His rhythm building evenly, his stick in metred cadency. Soon he would be home, a fire and soup to greet him. He’d leave his wistful consort to sing into the rain.
We’ll meet again some day.

Reviews

[Bret]

A wonderful piece! I have to say that you've really captured, quite brilliantly I might add, the rhythm and poetry of this voice in the forest. There were times when I could really hear leaves crunching under neath the boot steps of your protagonist. Also, I loved the reoccuring image, or idea, of sound; the sounds become this third character, almost encompassing the entirity of the forest. In fact, I would say that how this motif of sound works inside the story is mimetic of how it works outside the story; it surrounds the in's and out's of the piece. A wonderful collection of images and emotion captured in the most delightful poetic voice. I thoroughly enjoyed this piece and would love to read a continuation. Bravo.

[Cold Coffee Magazine]

extremely vivid. i coould pciture the forrest from what you've seen. You never mentioned moss but you didn;t have to. your discription of the wet cedar and misty air was enough for my mind to fill in the blanks as effortlessly as Bob Ross.

Thank you for making the reading so easy.

Dave

[The Random Writings Of ..]

This is a really cool story, the images in this are incredible. I love the rain, and the way you describe this.

just a misting of dampness which collected in places, overflowing the saturated boughs.

This is a really beatiful story in it's own right. Very good write.
Kates

[Chantal-lise Mirman]

You have an unparallelled facility with descriptons of Nature that manages to be exquisitely precise without seeming artificial or overwhelming the story. You put the reader right alongside Lazar in this atmospheric piece. We feel every raindrop; we lean against his walking stick; we smell the damp earth; we feel the moss underfoot. The Cuckoo speaks to us, as well. And the wistful thought of Ania, a sister who has found her ultimate resting place, is a peaceful one.

The imagery is achingly beautiful. I love the lines:

"the rain setting her in like a flower bulb awaiting the spring"

"the dawn stretching its sleepy arms, reaching slowly around the day."

And what better way to view our own ends than to become

"part of the story, rather than the teller or listener."

Lazar has made peace not only with his sister's demise, but his own eventual death, as he tells the bird:

"We'll meet again some day."

This is going into my favorites. Thank you.

[J. Marc]

Great piece! Really! Your lyric style is flourishing or at least, is more noticeable here than in your other works. You are dealing very appropriately with various symbols that are appealing, if not dear, to many people.

[Gandré]

Lazar...I remember biblic name. sweet story, very pleasant to read and such a nice hopeful ending. A perfect story for a magazine, where ppl are to be enchanted by wonderful stories.

[Sean Allen]

Nice transition from Lazar's sense and awareness of the forest before and after he finds and buries Ania. He is not even home yet and knows that she has already been reborn and that they will meet again.

Death in not something to be feared, it is just a part of life.
sa

[Raef C. Boylan]

This has been in my library for a while...time to struggle with a review for it.

It's a lovely, tranquil piece, with enough human detail to hold reader interest, but keeping the main focus on the nature surrounding your character; the tone of it is unimposing and gentle.

I also found it uplifting, because although the fact of his sister's death hangs over him a little, he still feels very much alive and intuned to the world around him.

The language of this is great -
"soft seething patter of droplets on earth",
"Tiny beads of rain gathered in colonies on his cheeks",
"his wistful consort"
"remaining in shards of pure recollection" - amongst some of the wondeful phrases and images that feature here.

I think the punctuation of this sentence might need adjusting slightly - the birdsong is such an integral part of the story, that this description needs to have emphasis prportionate to its significance; i suggest some changes like this:

"A sound of such sweetness, such melancholy...so obscure and familiar; a sound which penetrated...a sound that seemed to be made of wood itself."

Just a suggestion.

Thanks for posting this; i enjoyed reading it.

[Otto L.n. Pipgras]

There's so much vivid detail throughout this short piece, it leaves me wanting more. I only read it, but will have to check out the audio version. very enjoyable reading that really pulls you into the scene. well done.

[Pamela]

A wonderfully descriptive story designed to touch our senses and sharpen our imagination. I'm so glad Narnie sent it to me. This is a beautiful line, so spiritual:

'She lay in the ground this night at last, the rain setting her in like a flower bulb awaiting the spring.'

The cuckoo touching his heart as he thought of her; a bird which would not be calling at night - did he really hear a cuckoo? Or was it a last message of love from his sister?

I enjoyed this so much. I hope there will be more in this style.

[the ghost of pauls]

Very balanced prose, clean and evocative. Carefully structured sentences frame an original and involving scene. Well done.