Birdsong Novels & Stories

Candace I’m sitting at the dressing table, fixing my hair for the first time in days, when a bird starts singing right outside my tent. An ash warbler. For the third time since sunset yesterday. I almost smile. When it first happened, I made Ingrid go check. We were way outside of where the warbler should be, and if it was lost, I’d consider leaving my tent to make sure it got home. The last thing I expected was for her to report some kind of insane contraption making the noise. If it weren’t for the flute attached at the bottom, I’d have no idea what was happening. But now, every time the singing starts again, I know Eva is out there, trying to reach me however she can.

Looking up, she spotted a black bird flying in the direction of her home. The cawing echoed through the woods, piercing through the silence like a knife. Its sound was both eerie and comforting, as if the bird was guiding Miranda on her journey home. The cawing was not continuous, but intermittent, almost as if the bird was speaking in a language Miranda couldn't understand. Its voice was rough and hoarse, yet had a strange melody to it.

Suddenly I heard, "Wheee-aw! a bird sound. "what's a bird doing in this God's forsaken place." I tried my best to get rid of my blurry vision but I could not. I peer harder through the darkness and I saw someone lying in the middle of the dark storm with a bird close to it. The bird was rubbing its small feathered head on him. with the speed of lightning I crawl faster to the place "Dylan, thank goodness!" I said with excitement. the excruciating pain seems to not bother me anymore. I moved him and place him on my back, The bird flew and stood in front of me. "Wheee-aw!, wheee-aw!!, whee-aw!!!," it makes a consistent sound nonstop.

The dawn chorus is the herald of spring. It starts with a lonely, serenading minstrel, usually a blackbird. She is clear and harmonious, as fresh and sweet as the gardens she will later raid. In the neighboring tree, her saucy fanfare dares others to match their salsa song of the canopy.

If you inhale deep enough, the potpourri of scents registers as a sweet mix of jasmine, grass vapour and blossoms. As if on cue, the herald of spring arrives after taking a sabbatical for the winter. The blackbird is the main player in the dawn chorus, his song as clear and fresh as the garden he will later raid. Warbling wrens and carolling chaffinches join him, creating an orchestra of sound. It cascades into the open spaces, ghosts through windows and onto the smiling lips of the sleepers within. This earth song of nature rouses the rest of the animals from their slumber. Dozy hedgehogs totter like zombies as they get drunk on the last of the rotten apples. Butterflies flutter through the

~Night in the North~ The band of the night anti-supernatural creatures were all set out all on standby against the time the enemy steps forth unaware of their secret formation and intentions. They are all following the lead of Raven. "Kai, can you hear me now?" Raven asked tapping the piece plugged to her ear. "Yes Raven. Very clear" "I'm with Delilah. Check with Archie and the rest. Any time from now, we might spot something fishy around. I think they are probably thinking of setting a trap for us tonight"

He was so smart on top of that, it made it really easy to babysit him, Evan had already learnt a few words which he frequently used to convey things like, sippy for water, yes and no, yum for food, etc, otherwise it was just random babbling. Whenever Lucas would be too busy to give him attention, he would put on rhymes for him on the television or on the phone and Evan would obediently watch that, until the older would come and play with him. Evy, as Lucas had started to fondly call him, loved his sketchbook and colours with all his heart and soul, the only time Lucas had ever seen him cry hysterically, was when he had accidently spilled water on the book with his sipper, and all his colourf

When the kettle finally boiled and clicked off she was standing an inch from the front door, staring at it as if she could will Simon to open it, visualizing her smile of relief and the scold in her tone as she told him how worried she'd been. At the dawntide the manor roof was alive with the compendium of the birds, for in their song was their rich emotional intelligence told to anyone capable of real listening. The kitchen table cools my palms as the warm brown hues rekindle my soul on this and every day. It is the steady companion to the aroma of freshly baked bread and the birdsong that flutters in from the garden beyond. The birds

The bird was naïve, thought she could fight against the world which was trapping her. She did not obtain visible scars from that faithful day, only the bars. The bars were her scars to remind her she was nothing, but a caged bird bonded to her master.

“And what did you plant, Mr. Gardner?” Somehow, his skull smirked. The brightest seed of rebellion. The act of life is war. But I showed you that this morning. Mourning my impossible dreams. “So angels dream, Samael?” I do. Perhaps it's sin. He whistled with his bare teeth. Two birds darted from the canopy: one lush red with black wings; the other a crow. I scrutinized the first. “That's a Scarlet Tanager.”