Far-Floating Songbirds

A small willet wallows between the willow trees, washing its wings and underbelly.

…

A giant gar grieves beside the grave, green garden.

Dreading the driftwood, he steers away… and closes his eyes.

…

The small willet washes up to the gravelly gar. She admires the small arrowheads peeking from his jaw. She swims to his side. The water waves against his skin as the willet waddles closer. His eyes open. The willet steps onto his back. His eyes falter as he feels her soft flippers slap onto his scaly back.

He turns back to her.

The willet looks at him. His eyes follow her as she waddles onto his head… She ducks down, meeting his eyes upside-down.

They blink at each other, carrying quiet curiosity.

…

The gar surfs across the shoreline, with the willet resting on it’s back.

…

…

The willet wakes up, before the waning horizon melts from spotted black…

...

…to shining blue.

The gar gazes up at the small glowing scales.

“Do you ever miss the stars when ours wakes up?” the willet wonders.

“No,” the gar responds.

“Why not?”

“I swim to different stars every night.”

“Woaaaah,” the willet remarks, “what do they feel like?”

The gar thinks.

“Some are a bit sandy,” he describes, “Most of ‘em are really nice and rocky. A few have a bit o’ brown and green on ’em.”

“How do you remember all of them?” she asks.

“They were her favorite thing,” he somberly recalls. “All I can do is remember.”

The two of them listen to the lonely toads, thrashing lilies and riding little waves.

…

The willet wiggles into the gar’s rough back.

“What about you?” the gar asks, “Do you ever forget the stars?”

“Oh, all the time,” she responds. “But that just makes it more amazing when I see them later.”

“Doesn’t forgetting make it worse?”

“Not for me.” The willet rolls onto her back. “Forgetting something just means you get to see them more than once.”

The gar looks to her.

“But everyone’s more upset about the fact that I forgot them.”

The gar looks back down.

…

“Perhaps, you just need someone to remember that you forget.”

“Perhaps…” she mutters.

…

Her eyes flutter shut.

…

“Perhaps…”

He wonders.

…

A soft silicate scent fills the foggy air. The willet wakes up.

“What’s that awful smell?” she asks.

“Soot,” he responds.

“What’s that?”

“The leftover pieces of melted, fallen stars.”

“Woaaaah.”

She takes a deep breath, admiring the smell.

“Where are they coming from?”

He turns towards a massive hill; it slopes from the lush green ocean border to the viny dirt crawling up to the base of a huge plume of dark gray ash. “Just over there,” he answers.

“Woaaaah.”

…

“Why are they melted? I thought stars only fell.”

“They melt because they get closer to us.”

“Ohhhh… But how do they end up in our air?” she asks.

“Well, the Earth takes a big breath of the stars!-”

The willet breathes in!

“And blows it back into our air.”

The willet blows out, coughing a little.

They arrive at the volcano’s forest-green shore. The willet alights from the gar, allying with the alloyed island.

The gar watches the willet smile and sprawl into the fresh foliage. He smiles.

…