He grew up fascinated by birds. He must have been the only kid of his generation in that tree-filled neighborhood who never used a slingshot except to smash the windows of the boring neighbors' houses and who liked to pierce the kids' soccer balls in the streets. The first gift he gave to his first girlfriend was a bird feather, hopscotch, bigger than half of the little finger, he never forgot the joyful expression of the recipient and started to like birds even more.
One day he met lack of love and a little bird was the only witness to a tortured cry, in which he tried to let the immense pain of loss flow. The bird stayed close to him, on the power wire of a pole, looking at him with the little face that only a bird has and only left after the crying stopped and both understood that it was time for one to look for another to comfort and the other a new love to be reborn and relearn to fly in the turmoil of passions.
He married a little bird, he said. It could only be a little bird, that girl of so much grace and lightness, with a voice that even when saying a few curses was pure music. Little bird that flew with him for many years, in blue skies like the Madonna's mantle, alternating with other frowning means and even by those that best served as film locations of storms in which ships and sailors were sucked into the wombs of angry mermaids . With the little bird, he had two children, a boy and a girl, he was a perky woodpecker with a yellow chin and she was a bouncing wren that seemed to be walking in 15" heels: that's how she saw her children, with the same eyes as when she saw birds flying through the heavens.
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All his life, however, an anguished doubt had a little bitterness in his contemplation of the birds: where did they go, how did they die? It was never possible for him to see a little bird leaving its life, except when one of them crashed into a window pane and another was seen in the mouth of a cat, one of those that inhabit the roofs of houses. Even an ornithologist came to consult about this mystery and what he heard from him was nothing more than some scientific explanations, a little dull.
One day he became a little bird: he ended the cycle called "life", very weak and feeling the lightness of a little bird to be able to fly, he smiled for the last time at his little bird for his whole life and a lot of other little birds, children, grandchildren and even a great-grandson and flew to the other side. When he arrived there, he sang a song of immense beauty and vibrant joy. Finally he knew where the birds were going and his eyes shone with colors that matched the musical notes never heard by humans, which were the reigning symphony of where he was. How nice to finally be a bird, he thought and rejoiced. Feeling that he could fly, he made just one gesture and saw himself flying to where only those who have seen a bird arrive, there in the womb of all Creation.
Have you, reader of these lines, ever thought about becoming a bird? Would you like to see up close where Life has been created and perfected for zillions of centuries? So, become a bird! Fly with your dreams, sing the joy of living, rebuild yourself in lightness, find a bird that has the other wing and that, together with yours, allows both to fly and go out there, in the most varied flights, carrying and spreading seeds of desires to become a bird and be sure that you will be a bird when it is inevitable to need to fly towards a new time, to a magnificent dimension!
