The Canary's Song

I had lost a piece of myself. I wasn’t sure of where I lost it, and I wasn’t quite sure exactly what it was that I had lost. All I had was a rush of memories. Days, weeks, months, that all blended into a dull existence. Even though I could not pinpoint an exact time, this empty feeling began when I was faced with treachery and lies. So I had been walking day after day, hoping I would come across what was missing, and as cliché as it sounds, one day I did.

There was a yellow canary sitting on a tree branch. This tree was far from magnificent, it was dwarfish and looked like it had a stigma of sorts. It sat on the edge of an evergreen forest being outshined by the towering pines and firs. The branches twisted and spiraled, warped by weather. The canary had made his home in this condemned tree, hopping around from deformity to deformity. A radiant beam of light engulfed this little bird, shining through the leaves, sheening over his body in a greenish hue. It was like a spotlight, a spotlight to make you listen. But you could only listen if you were paying attention. So I gave him my undivided attention. I let him tell me his story in song. In a tinkling melody, so soft, so quiet, that you could only hear it if you had known what it was like to be overlooked.

During his song I found that no one had paid attention, not to this bird, not to this tree, and with each passing moment I realized why the bird had made this his dwelling place. He was trying to prove something, and it hit me like a wave. Yes this tree was not conventional, but it was beautiful. Beautiful for it’s faults, for it’s unique structure, and this is something the bird had seen on first glance. The canary’s song had made me realize what I had recently lost, my knack for seeing beauty in tragedy. And as I walked away, I viewed the world like a newborn child, for I now had new eyes.





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