Tears of the Phoenix

Part 4

A week later, she was stepping through the woods on a beautiful summer morning. It was quiet in the forest, the wind being nothing but a whisper, only the gentle sway of the treetops and their rustling mumbles giving away the presence of the light breeze. The branches snapped under her feet, ricocheting from tree to tree, echoing hauntingly through the wood as she made her way back to the city.

In her arms, she carried a basket full of apples, the ruby and emerald fruits inside shimmering in the splotched rays of the sun that fell through the canopy, showcasing their fullness as they ripely bursted with colour. The weight was heavy now, the hamper filled to the brim, and the walk was long, but she didn't mind. It was peaceful in the forest, a stillness and quiet that she didn't often get to experience.

Back at the inn, business was thriving. Of course it was, who didn't love food and drink? Her father was busy tending to customers however on this blissful day, he was in a better mood and had sent her outside to collect fruits- it was cheaper than buying them in the market after all.

She was grateful for it, to be away from the city, away from the noise and the crowds of eyes that only ever judged but never aided. It was a blessing to be away from the people who endlessly chattered about their own pathetic existence yet never asked to hear about hers, never genuinely.

So, she treaded through the thick labyrinth of brown and green, her hair swaying loosely around her shoulders with a thin chestnut cloak draping from her neck to protect her from the morning chill. The birds twittered and sang beautifully, their voices soft and elegant like the ones of angels, whistling their melodies with a happiness and freedom that she could only ever dream of.

As she looked up at them in the trees, their colourful feathers shuffling amidst the branches, she couldn't help but compare herself to them. She often wondered if she had been a bird in her last life. They felt like her equals, they felt like the only ones who understood her for they too could only convey their feeling through song. However, how she envied their wings. Oh, how wonderful it would be to fly away to somewhere far and never look back, to have the power to be independent and live the life you choose.

Hence, she would look upon them and see herself as one of them, feeling safety in their comfort. That is, until they flew away. Once they spread their wings and darted for the sky, she could only ever watch them from the ground, her own wings clipped and crippled. She could have been one of them, but instead she was a songbird forever ensnared in a cage, always one watching the others dance and prance in flight while she longed to join them.

But she never would.

Her heart throbbed at that, tears running up to her eyes as she casually strolled, brushing her fingertips from time to time against the rough bark of a thick trunk, her throat rumbling with vibrations while her lips pursed with her own harmony,

"The birds flew over the mountain,

Just little dots in the sky,

They soared above the treetops,

Bellowing their tuneful cry.

Beneath them a traveller listened,

Down from the road bellow,

A stranger to their land he was,

With a knife and wooden bow.

He saw one perch on a branch,

A beauty like no other,

Hiding in the leafy green,

Not daring to show its colour.