A Matter of Loss

April 26, 2012
By , Wayzata, MN
Cries fill the vast, extricated land as trucks tear into the dense undergrowth and leave behind their manufactured monsters, for they would be coming back for those tomorrow. Providers, scavengers, and predators rake the premises for remains of their sanctuaries, but a faint cheep stands alone from the low growls and scowls from beneath the meager canopy. In unique formations, burgundy, lemon, and titian feathers swerve about. Onto the twig of a juvenile tree, the bird finally latches on just before being blown by a gust of wind. The bird is out of breath from its tiring search. The feathered creature is perplexed; she went out to forage for food and came back to a stretch of terrain unlike the one she left. Below her, the other species of the forest looked for their homes and food, but this petite bird had lost something much greater, her family. This bird had lost her soul objective to remain in her daily routine. Losing her family meant losing herself, so the bird stops to question her next move of action. On its tiptoes, night was waiting, and the rustles in the brush were much more noticeable. While in a static rush of panic, the bird shot from its dense hideout and back into the clearing, seeking her young family yet again.

Although the minuscule bird kept her alertness, she lacked the eagerness she carried on her first expedition, for she fluttered her wings as fast as her heartbeat, and the two sounds stayed in sync like two trilling chords on a piano. After swooping, swaying, and slanting vigorously around trees, her eyes remained distinctively nailed to the crooks of branches and the eerie forest countenance, appearing to her with shadows on its awry features. Though she still did not uncover her missing flock, the bird flaccidly anchored down to a condescending branch for the night. Morning came as rapidly as night had disappeared and brought terrifying noises along with it. Buzzing louder than the afternoon cicada, the monster was devouring the tree that the bird slumbered upon. Mystified by the action surrounding her, she woke with a jolt and as soon as the buzz began again, she had already fled, forgetting all about her lost family.

Hunger fled her intricate figure like a dam exploding into a narrow canal since she had not taken a teensy nibble on anything for a day. Instinctively, she plunged to the saturated floor of the forest to scavenge. There, the bird found her “pot of gold” buried in the logs and lush undergrowth. Although her findings were abundant, she continued to peer vigilantly around the leaves as she buried herself in panic. She froze at the two green sea scopes intent upon her.
Similar to custom cutlery, its claws grazed along the rim of the leaf that she erected herself upon. This gave her a whoosh of an air current to scarcely stretch her wings on, so she followed the current till it dropped her back to the ground several feet away. She gave use to her agile legs as she hopped along the floor and bound up and over the leaves and stems of plants that were rooted in her way. When the predator was inches behind her, she reached up to the luminous, Brazilian sun and took off, for she felt as powerful as a hawk. The bird held on to her alacrity until she reached a safe landing distance from the ground, and she gave an abrupt halt, almost swinging herself over the branch while her mind was so scattered that instead, she felt as though her thoughts were being tossed over and over. Before she had a chance to cheep with exhaustion, she overwhelmingly absorbed the mimicking sound of her own voice from a few branches over; her flock was looking up at her, their eyes searching for their mother.





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