The hadida, a bird fondly known for its sudden flight and screetch of fright before reaching a stable height, was subtly tip-toeing across a pathway towards a fresh patch of grass today. I was sitting on a concrete bench, rather uncomfortably, pondering over the tree-top canopy shielding the city from me, when the black bird fell out of the air and clumsily landed on its feet.
The bird contrasted everything in the garden. Trees were surely rooted and instinctively throwing their leaves off with every gold rustle as the winter air creeped closer. Water trickled over rocks, dutifully plunging into pools.
And yet there, infront of me, a bird eyed me suspiciously, as if measuring my every intent from over its witch-like beak. It was an outcast, hunchbacked and in open daylight exposed to the judgmental elements.
I often imagine creatures formed in a toy filled workshop. Experiments are busily conducted while sounds are poured into the breath of each bird specie. Some sound like rubber ducks, squeeking through the air. Others are tiny tinkles of chains. What then, happened to the Hadida?
As I pondered the thought a belly-chuckle ran through the wind and filled the garden. A sunray slowly came to sit next to me, warming the shade. The Hadida peeped from behind a tree, searching the light for something. Finding it, the bird continued grazing, comforted that the sun brought no danger.
And there I had my answer. The Hadida is merely aware. The colossal bird, from its ability to graze on earth and fly in heaven, knew what seperated the one from the other. It doesn’t take an expert listener to hear the fear in its breath when taking flight- a warning of suspicion.
It was simple then, Earth had happened to the Hadida.