Shhh! Scribbler at Work

OCCY's Opus

[prompt: 'repeat' 23/11/2018]

Really, I had no choice. After all, I am but a bird... and a very, very small one at that. So the choice was to sing. And I DID!

It's true, my colour IS that of a sun. Not the brightest variety, you understand. I'd describe myself as the pale threads that lace the morning sky, way before the mighty SOL actually peeps over the horizon. Some call this 'sparrow fart'... but that's another story.

My 'real' parents gifted me to their daughter when she was in the depths of depression. Sadly, she has that kind of a nature. They thought to cheer her up with my constantly repeating songs - *sigh* - WRONG! She covered my cage night and day, more and more often. But I sang more heartily whenever I felt 'freedom' [of the uncovered kind]. Finally [and I am forced to admit, thankfully], she begged my 'real' parents to take me for a holiday at their place.

Happens that holiday lasted the rest of my life. At first they would only cover me when they had the odd late night party. But when they saw how much I enjoyed sharing ALL of their life, they reneged. They adored my singing and seriously seemed not to be able to get enough of it. I was so ecstatic I chucked my bird seed every which way. And you know what? My Mum forgave me because of my wondrous songs. Had to love a Mum like that. Had to try harder and harder to impress her with my songs. And she laughed. And she whistled as close as she could to match me. Poor Mum. She tried.

And then one day I was covered for a few daylight hours, and I was in a car, they say, travelling who knows where? But Mum talked to me constantly and I sang nothing. Just listened to her, comforting me. And then... the new home.

She chose the bathroom window. And her and Dad never covered me ever again. I woke with the wild birds at dawn... and went to sleep when the sun went down and the darkest night fell over the land.

And as soon as the shower started running, I couldn't help myself. Sang like a bird... or even better, apparently. Mum told everyone I had a voice to make Pavarotti question himself. Seems he once invited me to share the stage at the Sydney Opera House... but I had my doubts. I've never heard of either of them.

Loved watching my outside world, up close and personal. Except when the odd hawk or flock of squawking parrots flew by. "WOT WOZ THAT?" I chirped in disgust.

We all knew it would end in tears one day. I finally busted my foofer singing, just like my Mum told me I would. But would I listen?

Now I sit on a branch of a weeping willow hanging over the Rainbow Bridge and I whistle while I wait. Mum'll be here one day.