Four the Calling Bird

“-.. . .- .-. --..-- / .. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..- / ... --- / —”

You tapped your fingers on the window, eyes reflective as glass. You repeated the same verses in a trance, but your words did not seem to last. Your hands stained the window’s frost, yet the mark disappeared. There was a quiver to your fingers as your song came to a halt.

“... ---”

“... ---”

Your constant “so”s faded into the ambient room. A single black bird tilts his head in your chimes, as they await the next line. You longed all year round- no, you longed for winter. Winter, the only time your song can ever be heard and be sung, but it too brought sadness as you cupped your prized black bird for one last time, he too flew into the whiteness of snow.

“-- ..- -.-. ….”

He never came back again. One was a gift to you from a beloved now far gone- your father. Black-winged mottled with white, he was your first and only then. He knew the songs of your father’s and of your brother, and at last he learned your charming banter.

It was a spring ago, you spent time singing and constructing a tune. Your voice would ceaselessly rise and fall, and at times whisper. A secret between you and him alone, and after which your laughter roared in pride. You sent him off.

“-.. --- / -.-- --- ..- / .-. . -- . -- -... . .-. / - .... . / - .. -- . / .-- .... . -./ —”

You used to play a secret game, where you would whisper letters in the air. You dreamed of romance and fate, and the occasional mumblings of life being unfair. Waiting on the window, that day, a little dark speck draws closer as you brush your dark hair. Your little One came home panting after a long journey. After you embraced him, he puffed up his chest and sang a song.

“- .... . / - .. -- . / .-- .... . -. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. .. .-. ... - / ... .- -. --. / .- / ... --- -. --. --..-- / .. - / ..-. .. .-.. .-.. . -.. / -- . / .-- .. - .... / .--- --- -.--”

He fulfilled your desire as he delivered a message of affection. One brought you comfort and a distant love. Yet, on that one faithful autumn afternoon you set him off with a tune. You never truly knew, that was the last. As the days became bleaker, your rosy cheeks turned sallow.

“- .... .- - / ... .- -- . / ... --- -. --. --..-- / .- -.-. .... . ... / -- -.-- / .... . .- .-. - / .- ... / .. / -.. .-. . .- -- / --- ..-. / - .... . / -.. .- -.-- / .. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -- . . - / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.-”

One day there was an epiphany, as you held your breath in the increasing cold. You held a plump little black bird with a red ribbon on her leg. You whispered to Two a soft tune. On your other hand, you carried a slender and sharp-winged bird coated in black. You sent Three to find the missing One. You paraded into the window with two birds in your arms. You give them a little kiss, a final kiss goodbye. They too mourned for the loss of One, as their black little bodies faded into the yellow-orange canopy. Two mourning birds far away from home.

“.. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / ..-. --- .-. . ...- . .-. / - .-. . .- ... ..- .-. . / - .... . / .-- .- .-. -- - .... / --- ..-. / - .... . / .-- .. -. - . .-. .-.-.-”

You looked at the last bird in the cage, once a fledgling. You sang them a song of silence lamenting the loss of a friend. Your voice echoes in the cabin, like a siren singing in the sea. You received many letters from your beloved composed of intricate hymns and songs, yet they never sound the same even as Christmas came nearer.

A few weeks later, Two and Three came home. You embraced them so quickly, lamenting their loss. Two sang to you a tune that was meant to brighten your heart, but your heart began to flutter as tears began to fall. Three too began to sing, but his voice quivers as you begin to cry.

On a faithful winter day you cupped a little black bird in your hands. Your warmth intensely wrapped her as you began to sigh. You sang a song that filled the room and it warmed the bird’s heart. This was her first song, and she took it to heart.

“... --- / - --- / -.-- --- ..- / .. / ... .- -.-- / -- . .-. .-. -.-- / -.-. .... .-. .. ... - -- .- ...”

You kissed her small forehead and waved her goodbye, as you faded into the distance and your tears became crystalized. There was a sparkle that guided the bird in black into the whiteness of the winter. And flew further and further from you, until your little house is a spec in the mountains.

Four was flying in the thin cold air, as she saw the shape of another wooden cottage. The oil lamps shone through like a fallen star. The bird began to halt the flapping of her wings, and glided down descending slowly.

A being with keen eyes was watching through the window despite the darkness of the night. They grabbed their mottled baclk and white winter coat and began rushing outside. Four tired and weary began to feel the cold of this one Christmas night.

They wrapped her in their hands, and she began to feel warm. She was brought inside their house cozied up and bright. Little Four began to sing her song, a tune that lasted all throughout the night.

“.. / .-- . .-.. -.-. --- -- . / -.-- --- ..- / .... --- -- .” I finally found you.

Sincerely,

..-. --- ..- .-.