Bird of Prey

  I once was a falcon, flying free and proud. I would glide above the world, undisturbed by what lay beneath me. I would land only to eat and rest. Any other time you could find me soaring among the clouds.

  One day, as I sat upon a tree branch resting my wings, I saw a young girl skip her way into the garden where the tree stood. I watched her for a moment before turning to leave, when a sound caught my attention. It was beautiful, and I was captivated by it. I could not leave without knowing what could make such a melodious note. But there were no song birds in the garden, nothing that I could see other than the girl. She was watching me now, as I moved along the branch in search of some living thing that could sound so lovely. She pointed and smiled; her mouth opened, and from it came that same amazing sound. She was talking to me, "here birdie," she said. I answered her, saying no in my shrill voice, better meant for putting fear into my prey than making pleasant conversation. She just giggled, patted the ground, and said "come sit with me, and let us talk about life." I cannot say why, but I could not refuse such a simple request from such a sweet voice. So down I went, floating to the ground. I landed on the stone bench she was sitting on, my claws clicking on the hard surface. Still smiling, she slipped onto the grass so that we were eye to eye.

  As she sat there speaking with me like I was an old friend, I stared into her eyes and listened to her voice. I watched her lips move from smile to word and back again without fault. She was perfect as the new fallen snow. Looking at her made me yearn to be near her always, even as I felt the familiar itch in my wings that comes when I am grounded too long. That feeling that fingers of roots, grass, and stones are sliding over my wings preparing to hold me down and keep me from the free sky, for I am a creature of wind, of air and freedom. But her voice, so lyrical it’s as though she were singing each word to me, was mesmerizing me. I was drawn to the sound, unable to clear my mind and pull myself free as I should have, to fly up and away from her. I was so entranced that when she held her arm out I stepped upon it without thinking, only wanting to get closer to her. I didn't even flinch as she slid her other hand down my back, stroking my plumage. Or when she rose carrying me out of the garden.  Still talking, always talking, she walked into a building. The confinement clawed at me, panic running though my feathers as I became surrounded by stone and mortar and was no longer able to see the sky. But even then I would not leave her, the sing song voice she used changed slightly, soothing me, caressing me with sweet sounds, cooing to me, as if she felt the tension that came over me as we entered her home. It was a web of distraction, holding me fast and stripping me of my instinctual defenses, all of which are screaming that something is wrong. Why is she so calm carrying a dangerous beast such as myself, with claws to tear flesh and a beak that cracks bones? Why does she seem so sure, as if this is everyday and common place? What is that sound? at first it was no more than an annoying buzz, but now it is a constant chatter underlying every word she says, and its getting louder with each step. All of these questions and more rise up only to fade away as they reach that web.

  Even before we enter the room I realize what the sounds are. Birds. Birds of every shape and size, every color and style. All cawing or squawking or cooing or singing. Gilded cages fill the room, and while there are some that are empty, the majority are filled with flapping wings and gnashing beaks. Those warnings are now an alarm running through every part of me. "FLY!" the alarm screams as she walks toward the center of the room where a large cage stands open and waiting. "Run!" it yells as she sets me inside, nudging me onto a swing in the center of the cage. "Escape!" shout the birds as they flap and cry, trying to break the hypnosis I am under. They should know it will not help. Many have watched their brethren enter the same way, as they entered themselves. They know that not until the door closes will I be able to see or hear anything but her, and then it will be too late. But still they try, still they cry. And when she removes her hand and closes the door, the small click of latch into lock snaps the threads of her web and I explode into movement! Wings flapping, claws reaching, beak snapping as I screech out in anger. To be trapped so easily, without bloodshed, a struggle, any fight at all. I thrash against my prison, strain against the bars, bite and claw the open air in rage and despair.

  She does not notice, does not care. She has turned her back on me and gone over to the other cages, still talking in that hypnotic voice, calming her other prisoners, offering bits of food or running a finger along a wing or swinging a swing. Soon there is quiet. The birds have surrendered again, their spirits broken. Only I struggle now, reaching for her with talons outstretched as she lifts the cage by a ring at the top. Out of the prison and down the hall, all the while I flap and claw and screech, fighting against my confinement, my loss of freedom, but to no avail. At the end of the hall there is a much smaller room, full of beautiful colors and open windows. It is her room, where she lives and sleeps. In the center of this room is a large stand with a single hook coming from it. Lifting me up and onto the hook I am now eye level with her. I reach for those eyes, that face, but she knows better. She steps back easily and begins to talk, to weave her web. "You will be a wonderful song bird" she says, "You will learn to make beautiful music."

  She did not touch me, or hit me, or starve me, she only spoke. Day after day, she spoke to me of anything and everything. At first I rebelled, screeching and clawing at every word she spoke. But she continued relentlessly, until I could no longer fight her words. I gave in, surrendered. She knew I had, could see and hear the change. I began to respond to her words, instead of fighting them. Before long, I was completely beaten. She was the master, and I the willing pet. I spoke when she told me too, listened when she spoke, cooed when she sang to me. I was a bird of prey, but now I am no more than a song bird, never to see the skies again.