The Stuff of Legend

Every morning I woke up to the songs sung by birds that lived in the tree next door.

I had always wondered if birds sung in a language other birds could understand, but even if I couldn’t understand the language, it had a smoothing sort of melody to it. The tune relaxed my body.

I wouldn’t get annoyed like my neighbours did.  They told me how much they hated the birds that lived in the tree next door. They would label the singing as dreadful noise. I guess their light sleepers or they just like the silence; they’re pretty old and bitter. I don’t want to be like them when I grow old.

I couldn’t help but notice how cheerful the sound the birds made. It was like they were happy. It made me smile in the mornings; it was always such a great start to the day. I had always wondered if birds showed emotion or felt it at the very least. They just sounded so glad to see the morning greet them in such a spectacular fashion to be merely instinct.

I have been told that animals couldn’t understand emotion, maybe they don’t, I’m not so sure.

I woke up one morning much later than I usually wake up, something felt a little different. I heard silence, the type of silence that old, bitter people hear.  You don’t usually hear that when you live next to birds. Well, these particular singing birds. I thought, all birds sing.

I made my way outside; I thought I should visit the birds that lived in the tree next door.

I looked up to see the birds, but one was lying on the tree branch. The other bird was close by the other bird’s side. It seemed sad. It might have died, I don’t know. I stayed there for hours. The Sun was close to setting, it was getting late. No bird made any movement, but one was clearly alive. She was alive. Apparently, it was all instinct it seemed. The bird didn’t know he died, but it just laid there with him … not moving.

I’m not a morning person anymore, because I realised that she would never sing again without him.