We Did Hold Our Breath

Finally I just couldn’t take it any more, you know what I mean? I mean, there was so much sadness and loss and loneliness. Desperate loneliness. Oh my gosh. I thought I was going to be swallowed up by it. Everyone for miles, all of use, we just sat. Holding our breath. I mean, not literally. Because if you held your breath for that long – like from when she found out, which was 4 or 5 that afternoon … something like that … until the next morning at say, 530 am, you would die. Or probably pass out and then start breathing once you passed out. But what I am saying is that, metaphorically speaking, we all held our breath. For miles, all of us. For this little soul we share this space with. We held our breath for her. The minute she found out I could feel it in the very center of my body. If you measured it, it would be the spot that was equidistance in every direction from the middle of me to my skin. It wasn’t pain. How to describe it? It was a longing type feeling. A powerful, sad, longing feeling. It kind of felt like if I had tried to open my bill to sing, it would have sounded like a howl. And so I held my breath. And then the guys next to me stopped and the guys next to them held their breath. And everyone landed and held still on their perch. Their feathers ruffled like we do when we get wet. And we sank our little heads down into our chest, like we do when we nap. And our little black eyes got small, like slits, like we were going to sleep. And we sat. Holding our breath. She howled and rocked and cried. And I could feel it in that place I mentioned before. Every note. Every song. It swirled up into the sky and more came down to perch and hold their breath. You know what it was like? It was like when it rains. When it really pours. We all just nestle in to wait it out. Blinking and ruffling and shaking. We did that. Because when you feel that kind of power, you just have to sit still and let it do what it needs to do. None of us slept. All bleary eyed. When the sun started to crack over the horizon, we just sat there, silent. Never has it been so quiet. Never has it felt so sad. She came out and sat in that very chair right down there. I am pretty sure that was the exact one. She sat and sipped on a hot cup of coffee. And we watched. Just sat there and watched her, no one breathing. Our little toes wrapped tightly around our perches. Little eyes blinking. Waiting. And finally, I knew it was time. I knew someone had to say something. So I opened my throat, ruffled my feathers up like I do when I am really trying to impress everyone and I sang. One of the loveliest calls I have ever sung. I usually call for a mate or call to let everyone know this is where I hang. But that morning I called for her. Like it was the only call that had ever mattered. It was like something came through me to help the sun come up that morning. I had never felt anything like it. It was awesome! And as I called and called, my feathers ruffled so big that I was as big as an eagle. And then I saw her change. She heard me. She totally heard what I was saying.