Shadow Bird

SHADOW BIRD

Shadow Bird, a nickname she gave herself, partly from envy, partly from reality, but mostly from her love for her dearest friend, Flamingo.

They were friends, but as different as night to day, light to dark, pink to gray. Shadow Bird was short and walked with her head close to the ground. Flamingo was tall with long wiry legs, neon pink feathers, and a graceful neck upon which set a distinctly regal face. Shadow Bird’s feathers were a darker hue, dark almost black.

When they walked, Flamingo always led the way. They agreed that this made sense. Being taller, Flamingo could see further down the path. Shadow Bird felt safe knowing that her friend was constantly surveying the terrain. Shadow Bird could see the shadow of Flamingo’s head jutting to the left, then to the right, watchful, and forever vigilant.

Flamingo leading the way meant that Shadow Bird always walked in the shadow of her colorful friend. Although Shadow Bird loved her friend, there were times when she would look up from her view of the ground to watch her friend’s bouncy pink feathers and wish that she could be more like Flamingo. She wished that she could occasionally take the lead.

Being young and not yet flyers, they did not ascribe to the adage that only birds of a feather should flock together. Indeed, they loved their differences as much as their similarities. It was their uniqueness which made them fit so well together, like pork and beans, rice and gravy, and forbid the thought, bacon and eggs. Whatever it was, they felt their best when they were together, which was just about all the time, from the crack of dawn to the end of light. As Flamingo once quipped, you had to crack a few dawns to make a great life.

“The butt crack of dawn,” Shadow Bird quipped back, looking up. She loved seeing her friend’s feathers blush to a rosier shade of pink.

Each Monday they made the long trek up the Wahoo Trail to the flight center for training. “Try not to panic today,” Flamingo would cautioned her friend knowing that Shadow Bird was often in a state of panic when the instructor forced her up the ladder before pushing her off the platform.

“And you, try not to cry when he tells you to spread your wings and not kick your legs like a chicken.”

All the way up the Wahoo Trail they would chide and joke with each other. And all the way back after the exhausting training they would comfort and support each other. For instants: “Even if you did plow head first into that telephone pole, it really wasn’t your fault, you just need to keep your eyes open when you try to fly” and “If he hadn’t pushed you so hard, I’m sure you wouldn’t have crashed into that glass greenhouse,” and “I’m sorry that he kept screaming at you to pull your neck in when you swooped and looped.”

“Walk faster,” Flamingo always urged her short friend. “You know we’re only safe at night in our very own nest.

“I’m walking as fast as I can,” Shadow Bird would answer. She had to take three steps to her taller friend’s one. She had to speed walk just to stay in the shade of her friend’s shadow. Once she confided to her friend how she both envied her, but appreciated her being the leader. And that she sometimes wished that she could lead the way.

One afternoon they left the flight training center later than usual, as always they enjoyed their walk; that is until the sky darkened, lightening flashed, thunder roared, and the sky swallowed the sun

“Fried eggs!” Flamingo exclaimed as the sky burst open and the rains poured down with a roar, with thunder crashing like cymbals, the wind swirling and whistling, tossing her feather into a crazy pink salad of anxiety. “Oh my!” Flamingo moaned and groaned, as Shadow Bird paced in little circles of fear and dread seeing her friend so dismayed and worried.

“We’ll be chased by cats!” – “Barked at by dogs!” - “Nibbled by squirrels!” They chirped these phrases back and forth to one another, creating catastrophic verbalizations, little tornadoes of apocalyptic whirlwinds of words.

Flamingo gave in to her fears and sat on the curbed with her long wiry legs arched, her beak on her knees, and her wings wrapped around her head. Shadow Bird continued pacing furtively in circles until she fell backward in exhaustion.

“I can’t see an inch in front of me. All is lost, we’re doomed for sure, we better make peace with the great eagle in the sky,” Flamingo said. “Without my vision and foresight, we will never find our way back to our nests.”

Shadow Bird struggled for breath as she listened to her friend’s frantic chirping. Then she shot straight up, her wings flapping rapidly as never before. “Be quiet!” she exclaimed. “I can lead us home.”

“You can barely see above a blade of grass, not that anyone can see in this storm!”

“Precisely,” Shadow Bird replied. “You have vision, but I know the lay of the land. Your head is above it all, but my eyes are always on the ground. You see the terrain, but I know the terrain.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you see? I’ve walked the Wahoo Trail a thousand times in your shadow, I have no fear of not being able to see ahead.” She stood and puffed her chest out and said proudly: “I’m one with the earth. I know the shape and feel of every pebble, every blade of grass, every twist and turn.”

“Really?” Flamingo asked.

“I do pay attention, you know. Here,” Shadow Bird said and turned. “All you have to do is hold on to my tail feathers and I’ll lead the way.”

And so she did. Down the path, up the hill, and around every bend they went. And once again, the two friends’ differences complimented each other. When they were safely near their nests, Flamingo surmised: “On a clear day, vision is dandy, but during a storm, having a grip on reality is pretty damn handy.”