Boris Goldfinch Novels & Stories

It appears as if the aviary has been built around it. “My favorite is that one,” says Liam, pointing to a Gouldian finch. Its feathers are a kaleidoscope of green, purple and yellow. “Grandpa says it’s from far away. How do you think it got here?” he asks. “I have no idea,” I reply. “Maybe it got lost.” He huddles closer to me and whispers, “I think it’s my grandma.”

Each species contributed its unique melody to the ensemble, creating a tapestry of sounds that blended in perfect harmony. Robins, with their russet-red breasts, perched on the highest branches, their clear and melodious notes ringing through the garden. Sparrows flitted from bush to bush, their cheerful chirps filling the air. Finches added their high-pitched trills, while blackbirds, with their distinctive calls, added depth and richness to the composition.

Mari pulled my hair into an elegant updo and accented it with two small stuffed ruby-throated hummingbirds. There is a male with a pearlescent green body, ruby throat, black chin, and white belly. He is perched as if he is dancing in flight in my hair. The second is a female posed as if the two are engaged in a mating dance, perched above observing the males display. She is a more intense green bird with a stark white belly and what looked like kohl lining her eyes.

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.

Greyson looks the other way while they do, giving them as much privacy as he can. A low screeching noise makes him turn. Chick is now a bright, almost iridescent blue bird, with a black head, a white stripe across their chest with an orange stomach. The undersides of their wings were black with white feathers in their armpits, or wing pits. He wasn’t sure of the correct term, but the bird stands around five feet tall, a bit shorter than Chick in their human form, but still incredibly impressive. They hop to the entrance and jump to fly off,

“While everything is being fixed, we need to figure out the exact colors and decorations to be used. The current ones are out of date.” “I mean, the name of opera literally means the austere nightingale. We should keep either silver or gold coloring with maybe a dark, glittering blue as accent?” “A wonderful idea! I knew I was right to have you here for planning all this. I’d also like to have more natural elements introduced- things like vines, leaves, flowers, and birds to cement the idea of an otherworldly sort of attraction.” “Wouldn’t it be better to use stars and planets for that? I don’t think nature is all that otherworldly.”

A little time outside in the garden sounded refreshing. The stone walls around the residence were not so high, but it was worn with age. The rose bushes were blooming in bright red and wafting their pleasant scent into the wind. Faline sat on the grass under a lush tree, watching as the bird hopped around curiously. It didn’t even try to use its healing wing. From what she had studied that meant it was unlikely to fly properly again. “Perhaps I should give you a name”, she mused. The bird tilted its head and tweeted. Most of its feathers were a light brown but it also had a red crest on its chest. Where the brown and red intersected the feathers were an unusually vibrant shade of yellow.