Bird

At night I dream of a fantastic bird. Her feathers are of 116 colours. There are reds, crimsons and flames. There are yellows, lemon and gold. There are greens, pine and gooseberry. There are even blacks, midnight and chocolate. But the majority of the shades are blue.

Every morning I look for her as I walk in my seven-sided garden. Someday I hope to find her nest. I imagine that if I can find the right feather when she sheds it, I too will be able to fly.


^116

My family once kept a Beo. This is a bird that looks a bit like a raven and can imitate sounds very perfect. At the same time we kept a budgerigar and the two could have nice converesations and started to imitate each other. It was really strange to follow the development of something I said that went through two bird's minds several times.

The Beo then startet to imitate the dog, especially the dog that wanted to come in. I went to the door and there was no dog. This somehow shows that the animals are easily teaming up, crossing the borders of their species.

The ancient Maya and Aztec made huge pennants, scores of metres long, of irridescent quetzal feathers.

They were so light that the simple heat from the ground kept them floating silently, shimmering and undulating over the white villages, even when there was no breeze.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”


--- Edgar Allen Poe, »The Raven«
(the eighth stanza)

Birds of a feather flock together.

the pain
of
the painted bird
cannot
be imagined
or
denied

Birds enjoy the morning just as much as I do – just listen to them sing!

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Birds of the feather flock together.

He was bird-brained, I tell ya. It was like 'e 'ad no brain 't all