Once, a lifetime ago,
A young girl was wandering about the coast of a saltless sea
Her own purest blue seas squinted against the sun
As it further bleached long, knotted locks
And further blushed rosy, smiling cheeks.

Wind tugged at the pre tangled tresses
Flipping them from left to right,
Back to front,
Up to down.

She didn’t care though.

With each step she stepped, her plastic pail
Bumped against her leg,
Creating a rhythmic beat
Contrasting the untamed symphony of crashing tides.

This little girl had one thing on her mind,
To find more.

For her pail was a chest of her dearest treasures,
Precious pieces of earth she found on her journey along the endless beach she walked.

They brought her such great joy.
The china spirals of some creature’s previous home,
The fossilized galaxies of minerals,
They were more endearing to her than the extended hand of any Prince Charming.

Damp ecru granules engulfed her toes as she pursued some driftwood
To  support her travels
- for every good explorer has a walking stick-
When a curious thunk shattered the wonderful rhythm of her life,
A crash of plastic thunder in her peaceful sky.

She froze, frightened, but only just.
Walking sticks had vanished from her thoughts
To never return again.

Slowly, as if trying to evade detection, she craned her neck over the scene of anomaly
To find within cylindrical walls,
Doused in viridescent hues, procured by a penetrating, midday sun-
A little bird.

The young girl was unsure of where it came from,
Nor how it wound up inside of her pail.
All she was sure of was her pure delight.

After only ever finding a rare feather or two during her wanderings,
And seeing how everyone who was anyone had a bird of their own,
A bird seemed to have literally fallen out of the sky for her.

Oh, this was wonderful,
The girl couldn’t take her watery, clearest blue eyes off the creature.

She dropped to the ground, sitting right where she was just standing,
Eager to talk to her new friend,
Who responded with clever and wise words,
Words that were shockingly profound.
This bird was the wisest thing in the world!

So she sat with the bird for years and years,
As the bird taught her about her collection of treasures
Piecing them together,
And creating new, fantastic things.

She only ever moved away from the spot when her little bird wanted to,
Because what could ever compare to the life she had?

Although sometimes she grew tired of her residence,
Becoming numb to the once invigorating tempo of tides.
Then she would get up to go explore far-off strips of the coast, to venture about like she used to,
But in the end, she would always find herself returning
And sitting back down in her seat,
Back with her bird and her pail.

Time slipped away, running from the present as always, and
The young girl began to grow weary of the bird.
She began asking when the bird would fly away
So that she could finally go,
So that she could finally add to her now boring and all-too-familiar collection,
Maybe even start a new one,
But the bird always said, “No, you aren’t ready. You must sit here and listen to me, I’ll give you something new when you’re ready.”

One day, the girl was weeping as she begged the bird to get away from her,
To finally leave,
To finally cut her tethers,
But the bird dismissed her pleadings, insisting
“You need me. Without me, you wouldn’t know anything at all.
You would still be a brainless child, without any chance for a future.”

Emotion gripped the girl’s throat with such tenacity,
Yet she still managed to object, “I am a child!”

“No you aren’t," the bird replied without sentiment, "look at yourself.”

From her place in the sand, she stood up with shaking hands, and made her way to
The waning and waxing tide on shaking legs, searching her reflection
Within warping waves
Embellished by sifting sand and bubbles.

What looked back at her from the mirror-like material
Where dull and colorless eyes looked into her own
Encircled by purple discolorment,
And cheeks sullen and pallid,
Framed by hair- darkened and dirty.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry out in her despair,
But her voice failed her,
The sorrow she felt could no longer be conveyed by words.

The young girl was gone,
Lost to oblivion’s clutches.

Turning around to face the bird,
And demand it give herself back,
She found the bird beginning to beat its heathered wings,
Climbing up an unseeable ladder extending up to the heavens.

Within the bird’s clutches- the green pail
Dangling
Looking so light, so meager,
Suspended in the sky so vast.

“Please! Please don’t take my treasures, they’re all I have left!”
The girl cried out in spite of a fierce and engulfing tempest of tears

The bird responded, “This pathetic little bucket is mine now. You’ve had much too long to collect rocks and twigs, I’ve given you all of the wisdom you need, now go and use it.”

“But I never chose to- I know nothing of the world around me- I have no one- I need your wisdom to help me- I need help- I just want to collect shells again, I just want to be happy again!”

She dropped to her knees, no longer able to stand
She cried out, screaming for the bird to come back,
To help her
To make things better
To force the bird to return what was once hers.

Alas, the bird disappeared into the great blue mass above,
Without uttering a single word,
Leaving the girl alone in the great unknown.