Now is the time to believe in the unseen.
This is a sightless bird.
About ten years back I received three of them for my birthday. Each one was unique and beautifully crafted. I couldn’t imagine how long it had taken my dear friend to sew and stuff them. She watched my reaction carefully as I turned them over and over in my hands. They were exceptional. We began to talk.
I was working often with kindergarten children and wanted something symbolic yet tangible to give to them. Since many had “Flying Up” ceremonies, I thought the birds might hold some significance for them.
A few days later my friend called, “How many do you need?”
In five years she had sewn over 400 for me!!!
The children loved them.
Then one Christmas that same friend arrived at my door grinning from ear to ear.
She had filled two entire boxes with sightless birds!
“They're for your tree,” she said beaming, “Or...wherever you would like.”
The birds have ordained our humble digs every year since.
Recently one fell into the hands of my Goddaughter’s son. Oh how he loved its soft plump belly. He slept with it every night until he left. I slipped it into his backpack without him knowing before they headed to the airport."
I looked out my wintry window this morning and I began to write.
The sightless bird does not need eyes.
It is her instincts that she must follow.
She trusts her path without question listening intently to sounds reverberating off of rocky shorelines, cliffs and city skyscrapers to guide her.
She arrives when there is need. She leaves no trace of her presence behind.
You cannot see her gossamer wings. She flies quickly through the dark of night.
She is mute. Silence has been her great teacher.
No one can prove her existence but those who dare to feel with hearts wide open have mentioned...a momentary shift in the air....the smell of lilacs....a feeling of well being...but only after much trial.....”
The folklore has just begun.
How many people do I know who are just like that sightless bird?
I took one of my birds from the box.
She was begging to be released. I wrote a small note....
“Your selfless right actions have made ripples in my world.
Thank you.
Have faith like the sightless bird. Keep flying!”
I am sure my friend would approve.
The furnace has just kicked in. The branches scratch at my window and I hear an odd rustling from the bushes outside. Who has found safe haven in the underbrush? Could it be?