The Beginning of Birds

"The Beginning of Birds" by Julia Darrow Cowles is a poignant and beautifully woven narrative that explores themes of resilience, identity, and the connections between human experiences and the natural world. Set against a rich backdrop, the story follows characters as they navigate personal challenges and transformations, drawing parallels to the freedom and beauty found in the avian world. Cowles' lyrical prose invites readers to reflect on their own journeys of growth and discovery, making the novel a resonant exploration of life's complexities.

• Short story

								
IN very early times, the Red Children believe, there were no birds.
And this is the way they account for their beginning:

All summer the trees had been full of leaves, shaking, whispering,
dancing, as the winds blew upon them. “I wish I might fly,” said one
little leaf. “I would go sailing straight up into the heavens. But the
tree holds me tightly; I cannot get away.”

“If the tree should let you go, you would only fall to the ground and
die,” said a bigger leaf. “It is better to be content as you are.”

So the leaves fluttered and danced and whispered one to another, day
after day.

One morning the wind was cold, and the leaves had to dance fast to
keep warm. Then the old tree said, “It is the breath of Po-poon-o-ki.
He lives in the ice lodge of the far North. He will soon visit us,
with his war paints. I must hold you tightly, little leaves, as long
as I can.” But the little leaves did not understand what the tree
meant.

Then, one still night, Po-poon-o-ki came. He went from tree to tree,
and over each one he splashed his war paints, till the leaves were no
longer green, but dashed with red, and brown, and yellow, and crimson.

“How beautiful the trees are!” cried the Indian children the next
morning. “See their bright colors.”

For a few days the leaves danced and whispered, laughing over their
beautiful hues. Then Po-poon-o-ki came back, and with his swift, cold
breath, he blew against the trees, and the little leaves were tossed
and torn from the friendly branches. They did not fly up into the
heavens, but frightened and sobbing they dropped to the earth.

“We shall die!” they cried. “We shall die!”

Then a strange thing happened. The guardian spirit of the tree
whispered, “No, little leaves, you shall not die. You shall be changed
into living forms. I will give you breath and life.” And instantly
there arose from the earth where the leaves had dropped, a great flock
of winged birds, red, and brown, and yellow, and crimson, all the
beautiful colors that Po-poon-o-ki had given the leaves. Then they
flew away to the South Land, where winter’s breath could not reach
them.

But in the spring, when Ni-poon-o-ki, the spirit of summer, came
stealing up from the South, and Po-poon-o-ki went back to his ice
lodge in the far North, then the birds came back, too. There were new
leaves on the trees, but the birds flew straight to the branches which
had been their home, and there, safely sheltered by the new leaves,
they built their nests.

And after awhile, when there were eggs in all the home nests, the
hearts of the birds became so full of joy that they could no longer be
silent. Their throats swelled, and opening wide their little mouths,
they filled all the air with bursts of happy song.
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes