Saturday, February 12

Fallen Bird

Once upon a time there was a tiny little hummingbird. The hummingbird moved very, very fast-as you would expect a hummingbird to do, and given the nature of a hummingbird, moving fast was no miraculous feat. The miracle of this hummingbird, or rather, the most unusual thing, was that it believed it could fly.

Born and raised with other birds like itself, the little bird knew nothing else than being the bird it was. It watched the other birds buzz their wings, and it buzzed inside itself in the places that would move it’s wings too. It felt the buzz in its’ back, the tickle in its very fast heart and because of the way it felt these things, it always assumed it could fly.

So one day, the little bird saw another bird-a different kind of bird, one that had grown up in a different kind of nest all together. A nest made of tinsel, and gold, and very soft things, and the little bird walked to the edge of its own nest, a nest made of twigs, and grass and pokey things and string, and stepped off, believing it would fly to the other bird.

However, as soon as the bird stepped off it’s nest, it fell quickly to the ground. It did not fly at all-it only fell-the way it was always afraid it would. And though it flapped it’s wings, and felt the buzz, and tried so very hard to reach the other bird, it fell straight down and landed underneath it’s nest.

“I don’t understand”, the bird thought to itself. “I don’t understand!” the little bird shouted to the other bird on the ground. “Where are my wings?” it asked, and turned to look at it’s reflection in a pool of water on the ground.

The little bird flexed the muscles on it’s back. It shrugged it’s shoulders and stretched its neck, and puffed out its back, and behind its’ head, the most glorious of wings unfolded; wings three times the size of the other birds. The little bird stretched it’s wings out as far as it could, and they reached over the ground, and across the grass, all the way to the other bird; pulsing with life, and beauty and untaken flight. It wrapped its’ wings around the other bird, and caressed its cheek with its feathered tip.

“Oh bird,” the little bird said to the other one. “I believed I could fly to you,” “but instead, I only fell to the ground.” And the other bird said to the little fallen bird, “I’m sorry little bird, I did not know". "I never have to leave the sky."


Gary's third pottery blog said...

oh little bird...

Deb said...


nick friedman said...

Beautiful writing Deb. There is a profound metaphor there. That I cannot figure out what it is has me even so much more intrigued.

I thought I'd mention something else. I posted something to you recently that could have been misinterpreted and I'd like to be more clear. When I suggested that you could write the million seller about the "over sexed, failed potter," I did not mean that you yourself are a failed potter. Not at all. I just thought that because you've had to step away from making pots in your own life to do some other vocation for the time being, you UNDERSTAND the pressures involved in making a living through clay. If you were writing about a character who was a failed potter you would have knowledge of and compassion for someone in that position. When it comes to failed potters, I am probably closer to the mark. I've been doing this for 16 years fulltime, I have children, it's now winter, and we don't have two sticks to rub together. You, on the other hand are flexible and adapt to your situation. Anyway, that's another story...... I think that you didn't outwardly take offense to what I said says so much about who you are and what small place your ego has in how you address the world. There was some post about mug handles a ways back where this trait of yours also showed. I mean, I know few potters who are as far along as you that can rip on their own work so freely. No, for most people the natural instinct is to make a total investment in their work and then defend the work from the criticism of the world. You are Zen, Deb. Sorry if I offended you.

Deb said...

Hey Nick, thanks so much for the nice words . . . I am not offended at all-no worries. On the other hand, read my latest post "Marcoi' and The Princess" and see what does offend me! I think the things you have said to me are some of the nicest compliments I've ever had. Thank you.