The Quiet Canary

The Quiet Canary

Dedicated to the Louise Hay (1926 – 2017)

#positivethinking #affirmations #self-help

Low beneath the ground, down in a deep mine, on a rusty hook, hung the cage of the Quiet Canary. A fine layer of soot covered her soft feathers. Shimmering tears drew golden pathways.

She had become something of a pet to the soot skinned coalminers. Their white eyes and teeth would peer through the bars.

"She's a pretty little thing, ain't she?" said the Hairy Coalminer.

"I dunno. She's quiet for a canary," said a Young Man.

"That's the way I like 'em, nice and quiet. That way there's no problems down here and the air is fine. When she sings, then there is the problem, see?" said the Hairy Coalminer.

The Quiet Canary heard her orders: she must sing when there is a problem, not before. She would sing once the air became thick with soot. She would sing once the poisonous vapours rose to a level that could snuff the life out of all those who breathed inside the mine beneath the earth.

But the miners had it backwards.

The Quiet Canary was given the wrong orders. You see, canaries are supposed to sing in the mines. When they are quiet that means trouble. Our poor little canary was choking back her songs because that is what she thought she was supposed to do. The coalminers thought that was what she was supposed to do too.

One day, the Quiet Canary's heart fluttered a little streak of fear. The air had finally become too soupy to breathe. "I must sing!" She took a deep breath to sing; but instead fell onto the cage floor.

The Young Man heard the soft plop of her little body. He opened the door to the cage and caressed the almost lifeless songbird in his dirty hands.

"Boss!" He alarmed the men. "The canary's dropped. Let's get out of here!"

The foreman hit the alarm. A siren screamed. Men scrambled up the exit shaft, tumbling into the sunlight like moles emerging out of tunnels.

When sunlight hit the golden feathers of the Quiet Canary, she fluttered her wings. Delighted that she was alive, the Young Miner kissed the top of her head. His affection poured into her heart. She was so happy that a sweet song burst through her beak.

Her song was so pretty that the coalminers took off their helmets and held them over their hearts. Her melody was so beautiful that many thought it was a prayer of gratitude for life itself. They were right. Musical notes drifted between salty skin, to worn-out work boots and soiled shirts.

The Quiet Canary sung words of wisdom. "You are safe in the universe. All of life loves and supports you."

Nobody had ever told them that before. Hearing it was magical.

The Young Man carried the Quiet Canary home in his shirt pocket. He did not have a cage – and would not have put her in one if he did. Instead, he carefully chose a birch tree twig. With his thumbnail, he peeled back the bark and uncovered the green wood's sweet smell. With two strings, he hung the birch perch from the curtain rod above his one window. Then, he opened the window and placed her down. The twig was just the right width for her tiny feet.

Out the window, she saw a green and blue, white and yellow. It was drastically different from the dark caves of the coalmine. In that dark dreary world of far, far under the ground, she had forgotten about the blue sky, green trees and butterfly wings.

"Quiet Canary," whispered the Young Man. "I must go to bed. I am too tired to find worms for you, so I have left the window open. When you are hungry, go and find what you need. Go, but I hope you come back." The Young Man fell fast asleep.