Corbin

A Poem for Heaven

That evening, when Winter and I returned home from the corner store, Corbin would not settle. As Winter changed into her nightgown, and I my sleepwear, he flew back and forth between us like a mad thing. While I sweated over dinner in the kitchen and Winter sat on the counter top carefully reading aloud, he darted above our heads causing quite the kerfuffle. He whistled and soared, turned and paused, causing Winter to laugh. Little did she know he was causing me to worry.

"Winter I..." my words failed me as I tried to voice the fears in my head to the world's sweetest four year old, "precious girl, there may be a day where Corbin... where he wants more room to fly in."

Silence filled the room and Winter's smile left her face as sadness swept over it, "You mean you think he might leave me?"

I sighed and scooped her up into my arms, Corbin coming to a halt on the rocking chair and twitching his wings impatiently as though sensing her troubles.

"I don't think he'd ever leave you by choice," I pushed golden strands of hair out of her eyes, "but nature must take its course the way it was designed to."

Her little blue eyes started to water.

My heart ached, "You understand, don't you Cub?"

Winter nodded timidly.

I lowered my voice to a whisper, "You can be brave, can't you?"

She nodded again, a little more sure this time.

"And when being brave is hard, I'll help you."

I searched her gaze carefully and saw how hard she was trying to be strong.

"Here," I said, turning to the kitchen drawer and routing through it for a pair of scissors, "how about we give Corbin a bow so that if he goes missing, we can find him again?"

Winter's face brightened, "Yes! Yes! My ribbon!"

She practically leapt out of my arms and ran to her room. There was the sound of Winter wriggling under her bed, boxes opening and closing, then triumph before she came bounding back with a small fistful of hair ribbons. She scrambled into the rocking chair and Corbin turned to face her as she held up her selection.

"Pick one Corbin!" she giggled, "Make sure it's a good one..."

And as if he knew it's importance, he took the end of a bright red ribbon in his beak.

"My favourite!" she announced proudly.

I smiled with her and took the ribbon, snipping it into two equal lengths before gently tying one around our little bluebird's neck.

"Not too tight!" Winter reminded me.

"Of course," I checked its fit, "just tight enough so it doesn't come off."

We looked at Corbin as he showed off his bow, then at each other and Winter's lips started to smile at the corners, "Thanks Yosha."

A couple of days passed without trouble – as though, just for a second, the world was allowed to spin on its axis without being disturbed once more. Corbin was getting more and more confident in the use of his wings by the day and Winter was a proud spectator of his graceful rises and swoops. As he soared about the tiny house, his song was prevalent and cheerful. And the more he sang, the more Winter delighted in joining him. I, of course, smiled and laughed along with their play but with knowledge in my mind, I failed to rest in their blissful innocence.

The following evening, even as I sang Winter to sleep by the fireplace, Corbin flew around the room – ever full of the energy that had been cooped up within him as he healed. He flew to the window, then darted over mother's bed to the kitchen, then dipped and dived all around the air above us in a flash. I'd never seen such a thing, even on days prior. Though hours passed and the fire turned from a roaring blaze to a gentle glow in the hearth, still he continued – his plight spurred on by his recent freedom.