The Opulent Songbird...

When I am sitting alone by a window and having creative thoughts, I can almost hear a bird chirping. A female songbird calling to me. Singing in tune with my thoughts. Encouraging me and my wildest dreams. Those thoughts that I am not so comfortable to share with the public. Questionable things. Personal matters. Intimate details. Things that go deep under the skin and may cause awkward situations if any stranger became involved. She is a muse. A source of beauty and inspiration...of fantasy and temptation.

One day, in my travels, I found this songbird. Or, maybe, one of many like her. She was sitting on a diamond perch surrounded by the slender vertical bars of a gilded cage. A cylinder of solid gold with a diamond perch on her swing and a diamond ring chained to the tree branch from which she hung.

She was a beautiful golden yellow bird with black wing tips. A white underbelly with a faint pink blush around her neck. Her forked tail was long and curled at the end(again with black feathers underneath the two long, yellow fingers). She sang with such a soothing, sweet voice. It strangely left the taste of lemonade in my mouth.

The sun warming my back. I was starting to sweat and feeling thirsty. I was compelled to tell her that she was, in fact, a beautiful creature though wondering if I wasn't just suffering from a starving mind and/or heart. And, upon noticing my complimentary behavior, she sang to me in gratitude. Her song put a smile on my face. I felt like a flower bud coming to life.

I attempted to sing with her in harmony. Many times we stepped on each other's toes. Our tongues tangled by ignited passions and impulsive second thoughts. Discouraged by entanglements and misunderstandings yet we never stopped trying. Always harmonizing like two shooting stars swirling through the cosmos. Argumentative at times. Playful at others.

I leapt at the thought to free her. Pondering why she must remain in such an unnatural prison. Her beauty and song were more precious than the gold and jewels around her. Surely, if she was free to fly about, she would happily accompany me the rest of our days. We would make a joyful duet. Before I knew what I was doing, I found my hand reaching up to undo the lock.

Suddenly, there came a loud, booming sound from high above the songbird's cage.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

A low, bellowing voice which shook the tree. The gilded cage tossed and turned, ruffling the songbird's feathers. Her new song was one of intense fear and apprehension. A scared little child crying out from under her bed.

The sky grew dark and grey. A strong wind moaned and swirled with the clouds, tossed decaying leaves across my face like pointing fingers. Fingers finding fault with my desires. My actions.

I covered my head with both hands and winced at the shrill cries coming from the songbird. She was terrified! Pleading for the threatening weather to stop!

Eventually, her sharp warble took on a gentle tone. A happy tune to soothe the savage beast. A quiet prayer, telling all within range that everything would be alright. It seemed like a fleeting effort til the winds started to settle. Soon, I was able to lift my head and lower my hands.

Her song regained its lovely tone. She sang of contentment and safety. Of luxurious fruits that pleased the eye and satisfied the appetite. But, her face told a different story. When the storm had ceased, I looked up at her cage and saw tears in her eyes.

She was still deeply depressed, repressed and hungry. It was at that moment that I realized the grave nature of that cage. That prison within which she was kept. And, the grave nature of the force being held over her. This was the essence, the pattern of her life. Forever imprisoned under a forceful hand with no choice of her own. Only the base promises of earthly possessions, a trophy room given to her by King Midas himself during his mad phase with the golden touch. A fabricated happiness that slowly gnawed away at her greater soul. The spirit trapped within the bird trapped within the gilded cage. A spirit of untapped joys and creativity unable to break free and blossom beyond her present limitations. Such potential bottled and bound. A crime against nature. A mystery perhaps never to be resolved. A terrible shame.

[Would I leave the songbird thither and keep her only in memory? Or, would I find the means to free her from that gilded prison? You decide. Feel free to write your own follow-up in my comment box.]