Story Telling

There is nothing sweeter than song, and no singing sweeter than that which comes from that joy of living itself. No creature voices this better than the Rodin. Though it is contested by Magpies, that is only because they are contrary birds, and they are considered well refuted on this point.

One bright summer's day a young robin sat on the branch of a cherry tree and was singing in just this way. His notes were as pure as the joy in his heart and caught the heart of all that heard him, so that there was a silence all around save for his unfaltering voice. It was carried on the wind, and the wind delighted in the carrying of it. The airs were of a kind mood that easy summer day, and took the notes far and into the window of the house on the hill.

The golden haired woman paused just as her fingers reached to turn the page. She did not know why she put her book down, or why she passed through the door, or even why her feet carried her out into the day and into the cherry orchard. She found herself looking up at the robin, listening to him sing.

It was as if a spell had been broken, the enchantment of the world, of televisions, of Internets, and every list that had ever been made. She heard this bird's song, and it was like the first birds song, she was like the first woman, and everything was suddenly about her in dazzling clarity. She smiled.

Robins are cautious creatures, not given to idle fancies, as are some birds, but this poor robin looked down and saw the smile of the golden haired woman and knew he was in love. He sang to her, and as before his notes were strong and pure. He sang of the joy of perching in cherry trees, and flying across egg shell blue skies. He sang to her of the joys of being a young robin in love until it grew dark, then he grew silent, and the woman with the golden hair returned to the house on the hill.

The next day, after eating his fill of worms, and this was many for he had sung till exhaustion the day before, the robin began to sing. Hours passed, but no woman appeared. He wondered if he had only dreamed of her. It was late in the day, as she return home that she heard his song. She had almost forgotten it, had thought it just a dream, but now the work and driving, all the little tasks seemed to be the dream. She came out into the long shadows of the cherry trees to the branch where the robin sang, and stood listen until dark.

Each day she returned, and each day he sang to her. The sky turned and the stars wheeled. The robin grew old in the short span of robins, and he grew wise. He now knew the golden haired woman did not understand his words only the tone of his notes. Still her eyes cleared when she looked up at him and she smiled. He took pleasure in her, and she in him, though each was lost to the other.

Fall came, and with it the wind lost its good mood and it became cool and bitter. Then winter came, and the airs were cold and harsh. One day the robin was gone.

What liars make happy endings? What in ending is happy? The Golden haired woman went out that next spring and heard a robin's song, but knew it was not her Robin singing. She has her own song now. She sings of the joys of standing amid the cherry trees, of walks beneath a powder blue sky, and of the joys of being a woman in love, and she waits.

I here the Robin is in Leeds these days, and singing to a nice lady with red hair.